


Fools Among the Stars: The Tale of a Human, a Goddess, and a Bull.

by IceBreeze



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, F/F, Found Family, POV Second Person, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Trans Female Character, slow burn (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceBreeze/pseuds/IceBreeze
Summary: (A week later it was the two of you in the village square, hands clasped together as the Village leader said the vows. Peonies decorated your hair, dresses of silk your bodies. Most of the village had pitched in to help and they were all gathered in witness of your joining. Renee’s hand was warm against yours, the solid metal of the ring a foreign coldness where it sat on her finger, and you felt like you could cry.When she kisses you with her eyes wet with emotion, the ghost of her words sounding against your lips, you realised:Ah. So this is what it means when they say your heart can burst from happiness).Allison is a Goddess who lives a life of luxury and hollowness in equal measure. She is betrothed to one of the most powerful Gods alive, her beauty is the stuff of myth, the world is at her fingertips- and yet, the only time she feels at peace is in her brief visits to the human world. When she meets Renee- the mysterious human with a smile like ambrosia- then perhaps she can find something to call home.(Featuring Andrew Minyard as a Talking Bull).





	1. Let me live that Fantasy.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my entry to the big bang, like a crap ton of words more than I expected and more invested than I have ever been in my life. It originally started out as a sort-of-the-fairy-and-the-woodcutter au but now literally the only thing that remains similar to it is the talking bull (a feature I love more than I probably should). It's also probably the gayest thing I've ever written. The chapter titles all come from Lorde songs because I'm tired and can't think of anything relevant.
> 
> My partner for this was the lovely [dreadvy](http://dreadvy.tumblr.com/) and you should check out their absolutely beautiful art for this fic over [on their tumblr.](http://dreadvy.tumblr.com/post/163713869030/art-for-fools-among-the-stars-aftg-big-bang-2017%20)
> 
> I'd like to give shoutout/thank you/I-love-you-to-bits-you-wonderful-people to: Kat ([reytrashqueen](http://reytrashqueen.tumblr.com)) who saved my life by betaing a couple of scenes and has been one of my main sources of motivation and is just a generally amazing person who is the queen of femslash and my heart, Abigail ([wylcnvcnsunshine](https://wylcnvcnsunshine.tumblr.com/)) who has helped me by answering so many questions and has motivated from their yelling about their own absolutely amazing fic, [The Years of John Doe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11651823/chapters/26213979) which you should definetly read and I love them to bits, and Krishna ([yalocalesbian](http://yalocalesbian.tumblr.com)) who makes the most beautiful edits (like [this one right here](http://yalocalesbian.tumblr.com/post/163511136242/my-edit-for-the-fic-love-loved-lovers)) , a genuine genius, and is another source of motivation and who I also love with all my heart. They all helped me with things like the title and the summary and I do not know what I would do without them. [Poze-laceen](http://poze-laceen.tumblr.com/) was also a great help and a wonderful person and a marvelous writer.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling from me. I hope you enjoy the fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison's point of view: part 1.

It was a meeting that should never have happened- one that denied all logic and reason. You were a Goddess, the woman who creates the sky and all that is in it, whilst she was a simple farmer, whose only companion was a not-so-simple Bull. You were engaged to a man- a God- of incomparable power and wealth, to whom birds owed their very being. She was a woman whose only relations had been short trysts of bitter endings. You had beauty and skill, wealth and grace; she had little but a bloody past and her own kindness. You sought freedom, she to repent.

You were from two different worlds, and yet, somehow, life brought you together.

_(Some say it was an accident, but you like to believe it was fate. And in the end, all you needed to know was this:_

_Love truly did conquer all)._

* * *

 

It all began, quite ostensibly, when you were bathing. Your weekly bath- it was the only occasion you were allowed to come to the human world, a luxury you’d fought tooth and nail for (God, just thinking of the amount of pretty words, cajoling, and threats you had needed to use before they finally acquiesced made you feel sick). You didn’t need it, of course (being a Goddess had some benefits and one of them was the fact that cleanliness was never a problem), but you enjoyed it- revelled in the cold of the water against your skin, of the damp earth beneath your feet, of feeling alive for that small snatch of time.

_(Sometimes you wished you were born human)._

But of course, as with all things that you enjoyed, no one liked it. They wanted you to remain trapped in your room like a delicate flower, something to show off. They didn’t want you to leave because what if you faced danger, what if they lost your skill, your power, your beauty? (They didn’t care for you, just what you could provide).  And so you were confined inside the gilded palace your parents called their house, surrounded by people who call you a princess when really you are just a tool.

_(It wasn’t a home to you. You would never accept it as one)._

You hated it. You hated every last one of them, despised them and their falsities, how they act as though you are something to be admired, to be sold. Every titter, every remark they made was always laced in layer after layer of deceit and greed, and it was infuriating. Just thinking about it made you want to punch someone, but no, of course you of all people can’t punch someone, because ‘what if you damage your hands, really darling without them you’d be worthless, now be a good girl and weave for us.’

_(It didn’t matter if your hands bled or your fingers ached, they would never be satisfied unless you wove until your last breath)._

Clenching your eyes shut, you inhaled in and out, mouth twisted so deep into a scowl that you felt your skin protest. If mother saw you she’d probably be horrified, say that you’ll ruin your face and that what will you do?

_(“You’re a woman, darling, a Goddess, and that means that your value lies in your beauty before anything else. Honestly, it would be better if you were a stupider child- at least then you would be submissive.“)_

When your eyes opened once more it was to see your reflection on the water in front of you, to once again be shown the so-called beauty that was so highly valued in you, your blood boiled. A wordless snarl tore its way from your throat, rage and hatred mingling into an almost physical feeling inside you, and you slammed your fist into the water. It rippled, the image breaking apart as water was sent flying. Your fist tingled from the impact and you relished the sensation, the violence easing something inside of you. So you did it again. And again. And again and again until _finally_ you felt your anger fade away in favour of exhaustion, leaving you feeling empty.

_(There never was anything left for you, not even in a time like this)._

You let your head fall backwards, gaze drawn to the sky as you watched the sun begin its decline, the feeling of time slipping through your fingers once again making its presence known. You breathed in, out, and accepted that it was time for you to return. You turned around to the bank where you had left your clothing with the intention to dress and go, only to freeze. And stare, every muscle in your body tense and stiff, like you had been doused in ice.

For there, loitering near your clothing, was a bull. A genuine, bona fide bull, who stood there as though it wasn’t the first time you’d ever seen such a creature and it didn’t make no sense whatsoever for such a creature to be standing there, apparently watching you bathe. And you would have probably been more disturbed over its presence if it wasn’t for the fact that it wasn’t alone; there was a human on its back. There was a human there, in front of you that very second, and you weren’t sure whether to be terrified or intrigued (you’d heard a number of tales on them, most of which were likely fabricated to frighten children into avoiding the humans. They were remarkably effective, all things considered). You looked up from the bull, mouth opening to speak because you’d always been taught that you must never let the opponent get the upper hand-

-only to stop. Your mouth slid shut, eyes widened as you found yourself staring into the face of what was probably the most beautiful being- God or otherwise- you had ever seen. It wasn’t that she was someone of incomparable beauty- though she was very pretty- or that she could bewitch someone at first glance. No, there was just… something, about her. There was something stunning about her, something different.

_(If pressed, you would say it was her eyes, her mouth, the softness to her. You had never seen someone so genuine- someone who seemed to carry kindness like it was in her blood. Yes, you’d never seen anyone like her)._

For a long time you could do nothing but stare, floundering for words like a fish out of water (which you technically were, though you were a Goddess and you were in the water). And then the human’s mouth curled into a smile, her eyes flickering with what might have been concern but was more likely amusement. She slid from the bull, landing softly on the grass, slapping him lightly on the side when he snorted (a snorting bull. You didn’t know they could do that, but then again you don’t know a lot of things). She tilted her head slightly as she looked at you, like a person looking into direct sunlight, and asked:

“Are you alright, Miss?”

There were a number of emotions that ran through you at the sound of that question, most of which were messy, strange and nonsensical, so you decided to ignore them all in favour of the safest option- the familiar one. Anger.

“Oh yes, just peachy,” you glared, “Are you just going to stand there and stare, human?”

Her eyes widened as she seemed to realise the exact situation, a hand coming to cover her mouth as she said:

“Oh my, I’m sorry. My curiosity got the better of me.” And, well, you hadn’t expected an apology, let alone one that sounded sincere (sincerity was something rationed in your home), so you were left a little surprised.

“Curiosity?” It sounded far less intelligent than you’d hoped, but you could hardly be blamed. The situation was odd enough to set anyone floundering. The human at least seemed sympathetic, though she may just have been a very good actor, so you weren’t overly comforted by it. Also, you got the vague impression that the bull was laughing at you.

_(You’d have been more offended if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a bull)._

She removed her hand from her mouth, a sheepish smile spreading like a ripple across a lake, the expression at home on her face as if smiling was as natural to her as breathing. She answered:

“I thought I’d seen an angel.”

You felt your cheeks flush with warmth at the remark and your attempts to scramble for a reply came up fruitless. The Bull was definitely laughing at you by this point, and you wondered what the hell was going on. After a few moments, you shook your head to try and steady yourself, before deciding that you would just have to ignore it. So you rose from the water, squeezing some of the remnants from your hair as you made your way to your clothing. The human averted her gaze politely as you dressed, and for your part you did your best to pretend she wasn’t there. Your best, as it turned out, wasn’t very impressive, as your gaze kept flicking to her.

_(Something about her drew you in, as though you needed to be sure she was real)._

Once dressed you turned your gaze upwards to watch as the sky opened and out flew a sea of black. Ravens- a gift from your betrothed to your mother- came to return you to your house on schedule. They swarmed around you and you found yourself once again lifted to the sky, carried back into the void that led to the Celestial Realm. For a split second, you glanced down to find the human still staring up at you, her eyes hidden behind her hair. And then she vanished as the world morphed around you, humanity left far far away.

_(You thought, perhaps this strange feeling was because she was the first human you’d ever met. You didn’t think of how she was the only person you’d met to not approach you because of your family._

_You didn’t think about how you wanted to see her again)._

* * *

 

A week later found you returning to the river once more to find the human waiting for you. She was sitting on the grassy bank, her back propped against the bull that dozed behind her, something clasped in her hands. She smiled at your (rather grand, because it’s kind of hard to be subtle when you’re coming out of a hole in the sky) arrival, her eyes holding yours captive with their warmth. She tipped her head to you as you touched onto the ground, gave you a moment to breathe in the smell of the forest, toes curling as your bare feet came into contact with the cold grass.

( _You loved those first few seconds, the one where you could close your eyes and realise- you were free, just for a little while)._

Then she said, “Hello, Princess.”

“Princess?” You stopped short, eyes narrowing as you turned to her in suspicion. How did she know? Who was she? Why was she here again? The questions reeled around your mind, leaving your tongue tied in knots as you found yourself uncertain on how to proceed. Thankfully, she seemed to read that unspoken queries behind the statement, as she nodded once.

“Well I can’t keep calling you ‘beautiful sky lady’ and you look like a Princess out of a fairytale book, so.” She chuckled, “You probably just call me ‘human,’ don’t you?”

You felt yourself falter at the declaration, suspicion fading away in favour of a reluctant embarrassment as her words pooled in the back of your mind, leaving you warm and fuzzy inside, like you’d just drank ambrosia. Trying to divert the subject, you asked, “Why are you here?” and, as an afterthought, “Do you make a hobby of watching people bathe or something?”

She shook her head, looking slightly sheepish but made no move to leave, apparently decisive that she was going to remain right there: “No, I just wanted to see you. Again.”

Your face warmed and you ducked your head, feeling like you had swallowed the sun and with no idea as to why. Well, that was a lie- you knew why, they were sitting right in front of you. You decided, right then and there, that you would not acknowledge it at such a time, and promptly shoved it as far away from you as possible. You muttered, “Fine, fine. Watch me bathe then, you strange human.”

She smiled back at you, like all the warmth in the world had been channelled into making her, and you turned away before you could focus too much on it. You stripped swiftly and placed your clothes into a neat pile near the water (away from the human, so that you could grab them at a moments notice). She had turned her face away to give you privacy, polite enough not to breach this moment you had for yourself, so it was with great relief that you slid into the water. The water swallowed you, danced around you- welcoming you yet not, for you were a stranger to it- and you let out a sigh of satisfaction as the warmth of it soothed your aching muscles.

_(You weaved endlessly, making the skies your tapestry, the people your models, and yet it was exhausting. You tired of it, and yet they wouldn’t listen)._

You shared a silence with the human as the hours passed by, not a word uttered to fill the space between you. And yet, it didn’t feel strained or heavy, as so many silences do. It was- companionable, reluctant though you were to admit it. Comforting, even, like it soothed an ache you never knew you had. But when the time neared its end once more and you dressed and dried, readying yourself to return, the human rose from her seat on the ground, taking a few steps towards you. Her smile was still there, hadn’t wavered at all, but there was something more intimate to it now- something that made it feel as though it was a smile just for you.

_(And wasn’t that something)._

She gently reached out to grasp one of your hands, her movements slow enough to give you time to draw away if you didn’t want her to touch you, and pressed something into your open palm. You blinked, mouth opening slightly in confusion as she closed your fingers around it, her hand lingering just a fraction of a second before she pulled away, leaving you to see what she had given you. In your palm- the petals delicate against your skin, brushing them like sating, the stem bright and alien- sat a flower. Just a flower, carefully plucked from the ground and presented to you in all its beauty.

Later you’d learn that it was called a hyacinth. Later you’d grow to long for flowers, for the little piece of earth- of her- that you could keep with you when she couldn’t be there. But that was later. For now, all you knew was that this was the first time you’d received an honest gift, one as sincere as the smile on her face and the look in her eyes.

For now, she smiled and said, “I saw them and thought of you.”

You opened your mouth but no words came, your throat tight, the words stuck deep, like a cork jammed in well. You were knocked of balance, certainty erased as this human came into your life and showed you things you thought foreign. You were confused and delighted and your legs felt weak in the face of such a force.

You could only stare as she said, “Here, let me,” and removed the flower from your palm once more, your skin left tingling where she had brushed it. She stepped close to  you, her hands going up to your hair, and your heart was in your mouth when she finally nodded to herself, stepping back once more. Beaming, “There. It suits you.”

Weakly, you touched your hair, fingers feeling for her handiwork, only to start as they came in touch with the flower. She’d threaded them there, to form a decoration against your hairpins, to bring a little bit of earth back with you to the realm of the sky. It felt- natural, like it belonged there, somehow. It felt like it was made for you, and this time when you stared at her it was with a sense of wonder.

_(She’s like the wind, you thought. Untameable, she could destroy you, and yet chooses to be gentle)._

You didn’t say thank you- it didn’t feel appropriate, those words. Didn’t feel right, as though they weren’t suited to the situation at hand- and indeed, they weren’t. So instead you asked a question you desperately wanted to know:

 “What’s your name?”

She smiled and the world around you fell silent, life itself gathering around in awe to hang off her every word:

“Renee.”

You tipped your head, eyes never leaving hers as you said, “A good name.”

“It suits you,” she said again, and then the sky split open to swallow you whole.

_(Those words would stay with you for a long time)._

* * *

 

In the safety of your room, you found yourself testing the name, feeling the way it sounded in your voice and how your tongue curled around the syllables. ‘Renee.’ It made a warmth sprout inside your heart, a smile on your lips as you said it to yourself again and again, as though saying it kept her with you a moment longer. The flower sat in your hair, the weight of it a constant reminder of the strange human, and you were almost giddy on the knowledge. You always longed for the next time you could go to the human world, but this time it was like a fire had been lit inside you- you burned with it, with the desire to return.

_(The desire to see her once more)._

But then the door slammed open and it was like the light was smothered by a cruel hand, your smile wiped away. Your mother swept in, her skirts swishing about her to accentuate her every movement, the _click click click_ of her shoes against the ground sending your mood plummeting until you could scarcely remember what it felt like. Her lips were pursed into a thin line, eyebrows drawn down as far as they could go as she eyed you, like you were a particularly stubborn stain. She demanded:

“Show me your weaving.”

Your eye twitched in irritation as you stood and grabbed your latest piece of work, offering it for her inspection. She snatched it from your hands with the greed of a starving beggar, staring at it with the judgemental eyes of one who lives for perfection. You knew that she was dissecting it, pulling it apart in her mind until she’d inspected each and every stitch, every thread and detail- searching until she found a mistake, or none at all.

_(The days she found something to suit her standards were rarer than the days that went by without her complaining)._

You stood there, fists clenched behind your back as the seconds dragged by, waiting for her to finish so you could move. You hated when she did this, dragging out the tension like it amused her; it left you feeling sick. Vulnerable. Like in those moments she was trying to stare right into your soul and you knew she wouldn’t be happy with what she found, just like you knew that you would never change yourself for anyone.

_(Just like you knew you hated her with every fiber of your being)._

Eventually she inhaled deeply, the sound cutting through the air like the sharpest of knives, and when she turned to you her eyes cold in their fury. She scanned over you like she had the cloth, eyes roving over you until they settled on the flower in your hair. The temperature dropped in the room as her jaw tightened, and you braced yourself as she advanced. The slap stung your cheek like a thousand bees, forcing your head to the side as you grit your teeth against the pain, but you don’t make a sound in the face of her attack.

She snarled, her face twisted, “How many times have I told you that I hate it when you go to the human world, darling? Your work is always shoddier than usual after you’ve been there, I mean look at this!” She shook the cloth in your face, “Did you even try? God, you have such few things to give you worth and yet you waste them so easily.” Her claw grabbed at your hair and you barely had a moment to blink before she ripped the flower from it. Your cry was a mixture of pain and shock as you clutched at the space it had been.

She dangled it in your face- the stem bent under her grip, a few strands of gold held alongside it- and asked, “What is this?” and you scowled, clinging to the anger the welled up inside.

 “A flower.” You said, “Surely even you know what a flower is, mother dearest. Or are you more stupid than I thought?”

She slapped you again and you hissed out a breath, fighting back the tears that welled up in your eyes. She sighed like she was burdened with something heavy, a wistful look on her face as she stepped backwards. She said, “Really darling, you should know better than to taint yourself with trash from the human world; it’s most unbecoming.” She rubbed at her forehead, “If only you weren’t such a useless child.”

She let the flower fall from her hand and turned away without another word. The moment the flower hit the ground it burst into flames before your horrified eyes. You crumpled to your knees, a hand clasped over your mouth as the petals blackened, the beauty burned into ash. Your sight blurred as your mothers footsteps echoed through the halls, and all you could think was _why_.

_(On the ground, the flower burned and it felt like your heart went with it)._

* * *

 

 

She was there again, the next time you went to bathe, but the smile died on her face when she was the marks on your face, the dullness to your eyes. You didn’t avert your eyes as she approached you, simply glared at her, daring her to try and mock you or whatever it was she wanted. The bull moved away with a huff, either giving the two of you privacy or simply not wanting to be associated with you.

She walked until she was barely a hands length away from you, the two of your almost uncomfortably close as she studied your face. Her hand reached out as hesitantly as it had the last time and, when you didn’t draw back, she cupped your face gently, thumb brushing against the darkened skin like you were something precious, something sacred. Something inside you jolted at the touch, at the sadness in her gaze and for a moment it felt like the world had been narrowed down to just you and her.

_(Idly, you thought that she was like moonlight. She was soft and warm, more subtle than the sun, yet had a strength, a coldness lying underneath it. You could see it in her eyes, in the scars on her hands, and that tiny flicker of rage that appeared when she looked at your injury)._

She asked, voice soft, “Does it still it hurt?”

You shook your head because it didn’t, not really. Not physically. She nodded, her thumb brushing against your skin once more before she pulled away. The skin tingled in her wake and you found yourself missing her touch. And then she searched through her bag for something, brows furrowed in concentration. After a few minutes she smiled triumphantly and she brought a small tub of something. You tilted your head in confusion as she handed it to you, and she explained:

“It’s a medicinal cream. Really helps ease the skin after a bruise.”

The cream was cool against your skin and it eased something inside you, that simple act of kindness. It showed you a world outside your own. That day was the first time the pair of you sat down and spoke, venturing into the depths of an actual conversation instead of the occasional remark here and there. It was tentative, but a conversation nonetheless- and you enjoyed it, talking to her. The sound of her voice washing over you like the water of the river, a gentle flow that surrounded you. You talked until the sky was dyed red with the sunset, the bull having long since fallen asleep.

That day she pressed another flower into your hand- one whose petals were rich in pink. She told you it was called a camellia. In return, you gave her your name.

_(The exchange wasn’t equal , not at all, but somehow, it felt significant. Like it was the first step towards something great)._

* * *

 

When you arrived back to that place you found your hands twitching with inspiration, the thought of her a constant companion in the confines of your isolation. You thought of her eyes, of her smile, of the kindness she showed you in a world that seemed to thrive off of cruelty, and it felt like your heart could sing. You sat in front of the loom and your hands danced, the motions coming to you as easily as breathing, a new found excitement coming back to you after so long. For the first time in years, you felt like it was something you wanted to do instead of a chore, a duty.

And so you began to weave with the color of dusk dancing on your mind.

The next time you came down to the mortal world, you were not empty handed. Tucked under your arm was a cloak- a handsome one, made to keep her warm during the winter months- made with the colors of the evening sky. It was beautiful, simple and hers- a gift, a thanks, a token. You’d poured your soul into it but when you gave it to her it was casual, it was a ‘I don’t want you freezing on me, after all,’ it was decidedly you. And yet the smile she gave you was blinding, it set your heart aflame.  The hug even more so.

(You felt like you could eat the world raw).

From that moment forth, the pair of you grew close- closer than you had ever thought possible, considering your backgrounds. With every visit she would give you a flower- a different one each time- and she would tell you the meaning of it, teach you the language flowers carried with them. Somedays- not always, because it took time and that was not something you always had- you would bring her something you had made, whether it be an article of clothing, a blanket, or something else.

(It didn’t matter what gifts you brought, as long as you were both there. As long as you were together).

You would bathe, she would sit on the bank, and you would talk. She would tell you of her life (of the war, of the Bull, of her now and there) and of earth (of the culture, the stories, the nature). In turn, you would talk about your life (of your weaving, the sky, of magic and the Gods) and the celestial realm (of how power and beauty was everything, the rot longevity could bring onto people’s personalities).

Those conversations became your hope, your light- the thing that kept you going, that made you look forward to each day because it brought you closer to her. Your efforts on the loom improved and your mother left you alone, having decided that apparently you didn’t need to be pushed into working anymore. Your days became easier, the pain less poignant, and for a while it felt like these peaceful days might last for ever.

_(People always say that you fall in love and yet, to you, it felt alot like flying)._

But then, two months after you first met Renee, things began to change. Two months after that first day, your betrothed entered the picture.

* * *

 

On the day you met your betrothed it was like all the light had been sucked out of the world. The servants scurried around with their heads lowered, skin paler as their movements gained an almost frantic edge. The torches and candles all seemed dimmer, the flames flickering dully, barely hanging onto their existence. No matter how many times you tried, the sky you wove was cloudy and grey, a foreboding hanging amongst the colors.

_(A storm was approaching)._

Your mother was a simpering mess, fussing over every little detail as she continuously drilled into you the importance of this meeting. You, on the other hand, were decidedly unimpressed. Riko, your husband-to-be, was a slimy git who wore far too much black and thrived on control like it was his life’s calling. Within ten seconds of meeting him you knew two things: 1) you despised him with every fiber of your being, and 2) the feeling was mutual.

_(You’d never seen so much distaste crammed into a single look. You were almost impressed)._

He didn’t come alone though- no, that would be bad manners. He brought you a gift, one that came in the form of his loyal subordinate, Neil, who was to become your attendant. Which meant that he’d brought a spy to monitor your every breath, because he’s just that generous. Your mother was delighted (then again, the man could have probably punched you and she would still have been happy- she worshiped the very air he breathed) and there was really no way for you to refuse without making things difficult for yourself, so you had bowed your head and murmured some sweet words of thanks.

_(Not that it fooled anyone, but still. Appearances were appearances)._

Having an attendant apparently meant that Neil was to, essentially, live in your room with you and to follow you every moment of every day so that he may ‘help you where help is needed.’ It was awkward at first- leaving you feeling close to ripping your skin off just to get rid of the feeling of suffocation whilst Neil was silent and twitchy, always watching you like you might try to stab him- but eventually it began to get easier. You soon found that Neil hated Riko as much as you did, if not more, and that proved to break the barrier between you. You both began to bond, first by badmouthing every person inhabiting the palace, later by just talking.

You confided in him about Renee and the mortal world, about the feeling growing inside of you and how you longed to be free. In return, he spoke of his parents and the scars they left, his husband and the promise they’d made, of why he was forced to suffer in Riko’s command. It was nice, having him there- your loneliness was eased like it had never been there, and he brought you new excitement into your life in the long days as you waited for your next visit to earth. Soon, he was as irreplaceable to you as Renee was.

Soon, you found in him something you’d never had; a friend.

_(Sometimes you thought he could even be a brother)._

* * *

 

It took an excessive amount of persuasion before you were finally able to convince your Mother and Riko that Neil coming with you when you bathed would be inappropriate (for a moment there you’d been terrified that they’d demand Riko accompany you, but of course he would never enter such a dirty place as Earth). Of course Neil knew exactly who you were going to see down there, so having him come wouldn’t be too much of a damper, but you didn’t want anyone else to interfere in that time.

_(It was something for you and her, and that was how you wanted it to stay)._

Except Renee was there when you went. There was no sign of her or the Bull beyond a little note with a scrawled explanation of her absence (a horse giving birth, apparently), and a bunch of crimson flowers bound by a ribbon (carnations, Neil would tell you later). The flowers made something warm inside you, but the lack of her presence was like a physical ache. It was like, without her there, you were incomplete, the world suddenly losing its vibrancy. Even the water felt rather lacklustre, the pleasure of the trip dulled.

That was the first moment you realised that you would do anything for her, if she asked, that something inside you had grown to yearn for her like she was part of you.

_(That was the moment the wheels began to turn)._

* * *

 

Despite the attempted interference from up above, things began to change between you and Renee slowly, bit by tiny bit as all the pieces slid into place. You started slipping in your work, your creations becoming less frequent as your thoughts were taken up entirely by Renee. You counted down the seconds until you could see her, watching the time slip by with an impatience that Neil thought was hereditary.

On the days you could see her the world always seemed more vibrant, like there were songbirds under your skin, a humming in your heart that grew louder and louder in her presence. She would do your hair for you, after you’d bathed- her fingers feather light and gentle as they ran through the strands. You would sit there, leaning back against her as you basked in the contentment. Sometimes you would hum, singing songs you remembered from your childhood, songs that Neil had taught you.

_(And always, always, your heart sang about her. You wondered if she could hear it)._

 She would smile at you and then you would be gone, everything in the world feeling right again. She’d give you a flower and it would feel like she’d given you a piece of the world. Every action, every little word made you feel like you were flying, a happiness that could never be compared.

_(At some point, without you noticing, she had become everything to you- even when you left the mortal world, your heart would remain with her)._

When you were with her, it was like nothing could go wrong. But the rest of the world was not so pleasant. The palace became like a constant torture for you- your mother becoming more short tempered, your father as absent as ever, but it was Riko who proved the most dangerous. Your mother you could handle- you’d had your whole life to adapt to her, after all- but Riko was unpredictable, even with Neil to help you. And he noticed that something was going on. He noticed something about you- about the way you acted- that wasn’t right, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

So he tried to rectify it. At first his actions were small things, petty but bearable, like making it so that you couldn’t walk around the palace without an escort (Neil counted, thankfully), or that you really shouldn’t be eating so much if you were going to be his wife (it was easy enough to sneak in things from the kitchens as the cook was fond of you). When those didn’t work, however, he took on a different approach. Your bruises multiplied by the day and he tested the limits to see how far he could go. For the most part you couldn’t fight back- didn’t dare, because if you did then it was his word against yours and you both knew who would be believed- but that was just bruises. You could handle them, you were used to them.

_(They didn’t matter, you told yourself. You were too strong for that too hurt)._

But then, one day, he tried to force himself onto you. It happened only once and you broke his nose before he could succeed, but the damage was done. It took hours for Neil to calm you enough to stop shaking, and by the end of the day you couldn’t so much as glance at Riko without seeing black. When you saw Renee afterwards you had began to cry, suddenly seized by what she brought with her (warmth, home, safety) and all your fear, the hatred, the exhaustion came bubbling up and streaming out in a torrent of emotion. She held you until your tears had dried, until you had calmed enough to look at her, and then she stared you in the eye and said:

“If I could steal you away, then I would. I  would and then I’d make sure nobody ever hurts you again.”

And then you began to weep once more as you realised this- this is what makes her safe. This is what makes her home.

_(That was the day that the palace truly ceased to matter to you)._

* * *

 

Five months. Five months after that first meeting and the wheels began to spin faster, life heading towards a darker path as the pieces were all aligned. For that was the time you came together- that was when two became one, a love became known.

That was the first time she kissed you. It had been a sudden thing- one moment you were smiling, telling her the story of how Neil had glued your mother to a chair, the next her lips were against your and there was a hand in your hair and it felt like something inside you clicked into place, like you were finally whole where you were once empty. You clung to her, arms around her neck, eyes slipping shut, and everything felt right in the world.

The first you kissed was under the moonlights gentle gaze, the stars in the sky shining brighter in harmony with your joy. Flowers were surrounding you, swaying in the breeze, dancing for you to the music of your hearts. Her arms were around you, and you felt like there was no place you’d rather be.

The first time she kissed you, you realised you never wanted to leave her side.

_(You didn’t see the ravens lurking in the shadows of the trees. You didn’t see the danger._

_Not until it was too late)._

* * *

 

You had no warnings on your return, nothing to prepare you for what would come beyond the wide-eyed fear on Neil’s face as he turned to you. The air felt cold, heavy- like someone had sucked all the warmth from the palace halls, all the torches smothered in darkness. You shivered, cold sweat beading on your skin as the door to your room burst open and your mother swept in. Her hair was dishevelled and her hands were clutching her skirts like a lifeline, a wild-eyed fury etched into every feature as she snarled:

“You were seeing a human, you ungrateful bitch.”

The blood froze in your veins, the air in your lungs feeling like knives as you inhaled, fear washing over you like a tsunami. Riko stepped across the threshold then, his expression like it was carved from stone. Rage practically oozed from him, the sword at his hip more than just an empty threat and you knew- you knew what he planned to do. You knew and it had you frozen like your body had turned to stone.

Your mother opened her mouth to say something- to spit at you and declare you a traitor, to say you were nothing to her- but Riko shoved past her and all she got out was a shriek. Riko advanced, fingering the handle of the sword with a practised calm that made your hair stand on end, and his eyes bore into Neil’s.

“Did you know,” he said, tongue curling around every syllable like they each needed proper attention, “ _Nathaniel?”_

Neil stiffened at the use of his true name, body held in place by the same magic that bound him to the God, but he held his ground. He scoffed, “Well duh, it wasn’t that hard to figure out,” smiled, “After all, no-one with an inch of sense would want anything to do with you, oh unwanted son. Even a dog would be better.”

Riko’s face contorted into something hideous, something that made every muscle in your body scream of danger. His hand twitched against his sword, fingers clenching, and you found that you couldn’t move, couldn’t  breath- this was happening and it shouldn’t be, they shouldn’t have found out, they can’t-

It happened in a blur. One second he was standing there, a storm passing across his face, the next Neil was coughing wetly, a hand weakly pressing against his stomach to try and stem the blood flow. Riko stood there, a vindictive pleasure crossing his face as Neil collapsed to his knees. And then he turned to you.

Neil shouted, “Run,” but all you could focus on was the sword in his gut, the blood dripping out.

Run, your mind screamed at you as Riko jerked the sword free, taking a step towards you. Neil crumpled to the ground behind him like a puppet with its strings cut, and you felt bile rise in the back of your throat.

Run, the sky roared, the heavens reflecting your mind as you stared at the oncoming blade. Renee’s face flashed through your mind, the memory of her lips against yours cutting through the despair, and you thought of what you could have. Run, she seemed to whisper.

And so you ran.

_(Behind you Neil breathed his last, a smile on his face and the name ‘Andrew’ on his lips._

_Behind you Riko roared, your mother cursed and birds started to tear eachother apart._

_Tears burned your eyes, grief a jagged knife in your lungs, and yet still you ran. You ran, only the thought of her to drive you on)._

* * *

 

You were in pain by the time you hurtled through the portal, your breath coming in painful rasps as you stood there, terror overflowing inside you. Your eyes stung as you glanced around you frantically, trying to figure out where you were, trying to understand, but you couldn’t- the shadows were closing in on you, coming closer and the pursuers were still coming, they were hunting you, they’d find you-

“Allison?”

You whirled to the source of the voice, wild-eyed, prepared to find yourself facing Riko or the palace guards, but instead you found her. Renee, standing beside the Bull (who seemed duller than usual, his eyes pained), a hand resting on his side. Her eyes took in your appearance and when she took a step towards you her expression was concerned. And that- that warmth was the final fissure, the final thread of your composure shattering into a thousand pieces. You began to cry- desperate, angry, terrified tears overflowing like a dam had been broken. Renee’s eyes widened and she hurried over to you, her arms coming around you- trying to comfort you despite the fact that she didn’t know why- and you clung to her, hands clutching her clothes. You said:

“Help me.”

And she did.

She helped you up onto the back of the Bull where you clutched at her, and he sped through the forest, heading to her home. As he ran you explained everything in fits and bursts, letting her know the severity of the situation (the wrath of a God was a dangerous thing).  By the time you’d finished, Renee’s face was hardset and the Bull had come to a stop in front of a small house. She climbed down from his back, you following after, and asked:

“Would they find us here?”

You nodded, “They know I frequent this area- it would be the first place they look.”

She turned to the bull, “We flee, then.”

“We flee.” His reply was firm, like there was a barely contained anger simmering beneath the words. You wouldn’t find out why until many years had passed.

So flee you did. She packed a bag with necessities- provisions to help you get by, anything of value, and you thought you saw a knife in there somewhere- and secured it to the Bull. She placed you on the Bulls back and then scrambled up after, waiting a moment for you to secure your hold on her. Then the Bull was off, speeding through the trees so fast that not even the wind could hope to keep up. All the while, you could only clutch at Renee and hope beyond hope that this time, they wouldn’t find you.

_(You lost everything that night and yet, with her there, it felt like maybe you had gained something more. With her, it felt like everything would be alright)._

* * *

 

You found yourselves a farm, far from where you’d originally met, far enough to be safe from those chasing you. And you settled down. Renee brought animals, she bought plants, bringing life to the farm. She showed you what to do, what things were for, she taught you so much and, for the first time in decades, you enjoyed every day.

You traveled for days, only stopping to eat and for Bull to rest for an hour or so before you could continue on your way. You traveled until it was decided that you were safe enough- you were far, far away from where you’d originally met, and you couldn’t get any farther still without hiring a boat. And that was when you both decided that, perhaps, this was a good place to settle down. So you bought a house- a little one, hidden safely inside a forest where not even the birds could see it. It was only small- a cottage more than anything, an ant compared to the decadent palaces you had grown up in, and yet you thought it was perfect.

It took some renovation but soon, it became a home- Renee fixed up the building to get rid of any damages, to bring it life, whilst you salvaged the land around it. You planted flowers and vegetables, enough greenery that it could put her old farm to shame.

There was a village not too far away, on the edge of the forest- a little one, but it was bustling. Renee would take you there whenever she could, clasping your hand in hers as you strolled through the streets together. It was foreign, to you- strange, to see so many people in one place. Never had you seen somewhere so alive, so much noise and joy shared amongst those around them. You reveled in it, would drag her through the streets, tugging on her hand as your eyes were caught by this-or-that-sight. And she would smile, fond and warm and affectionate, making something inside you soar.

_(You were still haunted by the events of that night, the sight of blood ever present when you closed your eyes, but it was easier when she was there. Her presence made things less poignant._

_You loved her and that brought you strength that could never be compared)._

* * *

 

Sometimes, when your hands ached for a loom that wasn’t there, you turned to sewing, stitching up holes in fabrics around the house, making old rolls of cloth into blankets or curtains. It didn’t feel the same as the loom beneath the fingertips, but it helped. Renee would watch you, her lips down set, but she let you do what you needed.

On the days when Renee’s leg ached she would go into the garden and practise her knife throwing, discontent without the feeling of a weapon beneath her fingertips. On those days you would sit nearby and watch quietly, offering her the only comfort you could; your company. She would squeeze your hand when you went to bed that night, the wordless gratitude written in her eyes. The Bull was content to lie around outside, basking in the fresh air as the grass swayed around him. That was the routine the pair of you had developed- never leaving each others sides, safe from the danger that sought to ruin both of you.

But one day- six months after you’d arrived at the little house- you awoke to find the bed empty, no sign of Renee’s presence in sight. You’d been frantic, at first- worried that your nightmares had come to fruition and she had been killed, taken from you, but then you found the note. Her familiar scrawl was printed on it, a tulip placed by its side, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was fine and she would be back later.

So you went about your day, regardless of how quiet everything seemed without her or the bull there, and dealt with the chores, planning on sewing later on to try and ease the itch in your hands. You were weeding the vegetable patch when she returned, the sun high in the sky, the Bull grumbling behind her as he pulled a cart draped in cloth. You smiled at her when she greeted you with an embrace and you felt your mood brighten at her familiar warmth. When she pulled away her grin was secretive and she gestured at the cart.

“I brought you a present,” she said, “For our anniversary.”

You blinked, surprised. “Anniversary?”

“For us- it’s been a year since we first met, after all.”

The statement caught you off guard, leaving you to stare at her, mouth agape as you thought about it. It seemed strange- had it really been so long since you’d first met? It felt like you’d known her all your life and yet, at the same time, like you were just getting to know each other- as though it was still the early days, where you’d barely talk to each other and nearly every action was met with suspicion. But yes, it had- a full year, of you and her. A full year since that faithful day.

The Bull huffed irritably, shaking you from your reminiscence, and you moved to the cart, smoothing your hands across the cloth. It felt smooth under your touch, sharp edged and familiar in a way that set your heart racing as you wondered- hoped- if it could be. Then you pulled the cloth back and _it was._ Standing tall and proud in the cart, the wood practically gleaming from where it had been polished and smoothed to perfection, was a loom. It wasn’t pristine and nowhere near the size of the one you’d had before, but right then it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid eyes on. And it was _yours-_ no obligation to create items to satisfy anyone's fancy, no need to embellish the sky, nothing but what you choose to make _._

_(Your life was finally your own to control)._

You turned to her with your smile so bright that it hurt, practically ablaze with happiness, and said, “I love you.” Because they were the only words you could say- everything else paled in comparison to how much you felt right there and then, to everything you needed to convey. And she understood, because she always would:

“I love you too.”

_(For the first time in months you wove and it felt like flying, like the universe was tiny in comparison to the size of your joy. That night, you wove, and all the while Renee sat by your side, humming a song you’d taught her in those distant days by the river bank._

_That night it truly felt like perfection was possible)._

* * *

 

Renee got a job in the village, helping out in the butchers. She was well loved there, and would bring home the food that the butcher gave her- sometimes it was pieces of meat, sometimes it was pies (on one memorable occasion when you went to visit her whilst she was at work the butcher gave you a full pot of stew, saying that it was a small thing compared to how much of a help Renee was). It wasn’t the best paying job out there, but it was work and she enjoyed it well enough. You would sell the items you create in the village, at first to only a few people who learned about your weaving in passing, later to pretty much the entire village- people would come up to you when you went into the village and ask you to make them this or that item, and soon you developed a steady income from it.

Through your combined efforts, you lived comfortably. You weren’t well off- not by a long shot- but you weren’t starving and, whilst it was a great contrast to your previous lifestyle, you liked it. It was nice- living with her, earning your own money. Being free, instead of having to watch your every movement.

_(You were with the woman you loved and that would be enough for you. With her, you could do anything)._

* * *

 

_(The first time she swept you off your feet it was from a challenge, a ‘you can’t be that strong, not when you look like that’, and it set your face aflame as she grinned down at you. Her face said ‘Oh, can’t I?’ but your heart said ‘Oh, fuck.’_

_The second time you both collapsed into a heap of laughter because the Bull looked so affronted that you could scarcely breathe. You lay there, clutching at each other as you laughed and laughed and laughed, until it felt like you could choke on the happiness._

_After the third time, it became a tradition- a thing that you did nearly every day, yet never lost it’s value. It was something you never expected to miss so much, when you could no longer do it anymore)._

* * *

 

One day, on one of your many excursions into the village, when you were going to set up your stall and she was going to her job, you came across a wedding. It was a strange thing, peculiar- so unlike the ones in the sky, where everything was like a parade, gaudy but unfeeling. Two men stood together with their hands clasped, wearing robes of bright colors, flowers crowning their heads. Their faces were bright as the village head declared them ‘husband and husband,’ the people gathered around them crying and cheering in equal measure. You watched and you found a pang of longing in your chest, a sense of ‘what must it be like?’

_(You always had had a fascination with things that you could never have)._

You shook away the feeling, the ache, and turned to Renee with your mouth open to speak, only to cut yourself off at her expression. She was quiet, reverting into that state where you could never read her- when she didn’t want her thoughts to be known- and you didn’t question her. Didn’t ask, simply squeezed her hand to let her know you were there for her. She squeezed back and you felt like something had changed.

 Her mood remained for three days, and though she shook of your concern with a smile and ‘I’m fine. I promise,’ you worried. She spent a lot of time with the Bull, those days, and when she came to bed she tossed and turned, troubled in her sleep. Then, on the third day, she disappeared into the village on her own, and when she came back there was a glint in her eye, a resolution that was absent before- but of what, you did not know. You didn’t find out until later that night, when you were lying in bed and she pressed something cold into your hand.

She asked, voice little more than a whisper, “Will you marry me?” And when you opened up your palm there was a pair of rings beaming up at you.

You said, “Oh yes, _yes_ ,” and had never meant anything so much in your entire life.

_(A week later it was the two of you in the village square, hands clasped together as the Village leader said the vows. Peonies decorated your hair, dresses of silk your bodies. Most of the village had pitched in to help and they were all gathered in witness of your joining. Renee’s hand was warm against yours, the solid metal of the ring a foreign coldness where it sat on her finger, and you felt like you could cry._

_When she kisses you with her eyes wet with emotion, the ghost of her words sounding against your lips, you realised:_

_Ah. So this is what it means when they say your heart can burst from happiness)._

* * *

 

_(The first time you called her ‘my wife’ was when you were helping out at the village orphanage. The children were gathered around the two of you, the younger ones clamoring at your feet in awe and saying that you must have a prince if you’re a princess. You smiled, hitching one of the little girls who was hanging onto your neck so they could rest against your hips easier, and said, “No, but my wife is better than any prince out there.”_

_Renee jolted where she was helping a group of boys with their picture, and when she turned to stare at you the flush was practically luminescent. She was staring at you like she was a blind man seeing the sun for the first time, her mouth agape, and you grinned. You leaned down to the children conspiratorially, and confided like it was a great secret, “She even rescued me from an evil demon, carrying me off into the sunset on her noble steed.”_

_The children’s gasps were enthralled, and when they swarmed the still flustered Renee, you could only laugh outright at her attempt at a glare. She got you back, eventually, when she pronounced it suddenly to a passing noblewoman who was interested in more than your weaving, but still. This was a victory you would cherish)._

* * *

 

Winter came harsh that year, one of the bitterest you’d ever seen. Your home was safe from the worst of it, what with the fire kept burning tirelessly and the warm clothing you’d woven, but many were not so lucky. Food supplies suffered, only the most hardy crops able to survive the brutal cold, the endless snowstorms causing many animals to pass. Many of those who didn’t freeze to death died from starvation.

It was a dark time. And yet, you remember it fondly, because that was the winter you came across two children. They were little more than skin and bones, huddled together in a thin blanket against the cold. Brothers- left by their parents to die because they couldn’t afford to feed two more. They were children struggling to survive in a world that wanted them dead, and you and Renee didn’t even need to exchange a glance before moving to bundle them up into your arms. You brought them to your home, gave them food and warm clothes, let them sit by the fire until they stopped trembling, until they could look at you and speak.

They told you their story, their names- the oldest was Ashton, the youngest Deene- and at the end, you gave them a choice- stay with you, or to be taken to the village orphanage. They chose to stay. And so your family grew by two.

_(You never thought you’d have a place to call home and yet, here you are)._

* * *

 

As time passed, the children flourished, discovering what they thrived in. Deene showed a love for weaving, spending hours on end watching you weave, peppering in question after question after question. When he was old enough, you let him help you, teaching him slowly how it worked, how to use the fabric, and he absorbed it eagerly. Soon, he began to tell you:

“I’m going to be the best weaver out there, mama. Even better than you!”

Things were hesitant at first, after the children had joined- it was a big change- but, slowly, you adjusted. The children began to open up to you both, slipping into your lives until you couldn’t remember what it had been like without them. They flourished with time, growing bolder and brighter, your heart fonder of them every passing day.

Ashton danced around Renee, jumping up and down to go on rides with her and the Bull. He grew his hair long, said he wanted it to look like yours, lamented over its brown color until you laughed and said it was like burnished gold. He loved the garden, and when he wasn’t helping you to tend it he was searching for books, for knowledge- he read like it was his lifeline, taking to lessons like they were his purpose for existing. He was sociable, bursting with energy- whenever you took a trip to the village you’d have to fight to keep track of him as he ran from person to person, demanding to know their life story and asking them more questions than they had answers.

Deene was quieter, a warm hearth to Ashton’s bonfire, but he was no less bright. He spent his younger years clinging to your skirts as you stood at the stall and sold your work, eyes wide as he took in every customer, every interaction. When Renee came over he would hurry over to her and beg to be carried, shrieking in delight when she hauled him up onto her shoulders and ran around the village, laughing all the way. He was fascinated by your weaving, loving nothing more than to spend hours watching you as you worked the loom, asking question after question after question. When he was old enough you began to teach him, showing him how to weave like you do, and he absorbed it with an eagerness that was unrivaled.

As he got better and better he began to say, “I’m gonna be the best weaver ever, mama. Even better than you!”

And you would laugh, “I don’t doubt you will.”

Every evening you’d all gather together in front of the fire, huddled under a blanket with warm mugs of milk. You’d tell stories, filling the night with singing and laughter until the boys were drooping from sleep, their tiredness clear as day. You’d gather them into your arms- each of you carrying one of them- and put them to bed, wrapping the blankets snug around them. The dishes and blankets would be tidied away, the fire put out, and then you would both retire to your own bedroom where you would curl up into each others arms.

Time passed, and you were thankful for every peaceful day that came.

_(With two more, you family was complete. The house had never seen so much love)._

* * *

 

When Ashton was twelve he came to you with his hands shaking, his face like he was going to war. He said he needed to tell you something, that it was important. Renee had been as concerned as you, her hand gripping your shoulder as she prepared to be told something disastrous, but instead Ashton said:

“I’m a girl.”

And you breathed once more. Ashton became Asha, that day, after she found herself pulled into a hug- first by you, then by Renee. You hugged her close, easing her worries away with reassurances, and your family went on as they had before. By the end of the week Asha had a wardrobe full of clothes you’d made especially for her, and she coveted them. She was closer to you, now, coming to you with a hair brush and asking you to brush her hair. You would braid flowers into it, teaching her how to do the same with your own, and it became a daily ritual for you both.

Renee remarked, “Like mother, like daughter,” on the day you convinced her to let Asha practise on her, and you didn’t bother to hide your smirk.

_(You would be the mother to her that yours never was to you, and that was something that would never change)._

* * *

_(You’d felt like these days of happiness would never end. That you would be able to live like this forever, surrounded by people you love in a place where you could be free from the control of your family. But time was a cruel mistress and you soon learned that this would not be true._

_Good things can’t last forever, after all)._

* * *

The years slipped through your fingers like sand and all too soon it had been ten years since the day you’d fled to the mortal world. You continued to spend your days peacefully, but you noticed changes in those around you- ones that seemed to pass you by. It was discomfiting to see- to watch the life drain from her body. She tired easily now, no longer do heavy labour like she once could.

Deene and Asha too- they were taller, Deene in particular shooting up like a beanstalk when he had once barely come up to your knees.  Asha grew to be beautiful, sixteen and already ready to take on the world. She said she wanted to be a doctor, itched to leave home to train. Deene was more confident now, his ability on the loom equal to yours. He took over the manual work Renee couldn’t do, charming all the villagers who passed by.  They’d both grown so much that it terrified you.

And despite all this- despite how everything around you was changing- you remained unchanged. You felt no different to how you had all them years ago, neither you beauty or your health suffering the ravages of time. You alone remained the same, and you were afraid. You thought of what this might mean- of what would happen if they continued to age without you- and your blood ran cold. But it was to be expected, really- a Goddess would never be the same as mortals, no matter how much you wished otherwise. You were different and that was something you couldn’t change.

_(You’d never cursed your blood before, but you did then. You cursed time)._

* * *

 

In the end, your happiness was torn apart by a raven. That was it- just one raven that settled on a tree nearby your home. It sat there for two days and watched, utterly silent. You hadn’t thought anything of it at first- the years spent in bliss had dulled your sense of danger. You just went on with your life, not knowing what would come.

But then, on the second day, a second raven came. And then a third and a fourth and an eighth until, within minutes, the entire tree had been shrouded by them. Renee had been teaching Asha how to fight, her instructions gentle as she ran the girl through the steps one by one, whilst Deene sat beside you as you both worked to stitch up the holes in one of Asha’s dresses, but you all turned to stare at the tree as the birds arrived. Your eyes had widened, fear spiking because ravens meant Riko and that meant he’d found you, he’d found you. You hadn’t fled far enough; he was going to ruin everything.

Here’s what you knew:

You turned to meet the eyes of your wife, panic written plain across your face, and she nodded, lips set in a firm line. She hurried Asha inside and you all but dragged Deene with you, struggling to get out of the open and away from the stares of Riko’s slaves. But then Renee screamed, running to get to you at the same to you heard an inhuman shriek, the sound of a thousand flapping wings. Claws and beaks dug into your skin, gripping you in their clutches, and you barely had time to cry out before you were dragged into the sky and the world fell into darkness.

Here’s what you would remember:

The desperation in Renee’s eyes as she struggled to get to you, your name forming on her lips. The fear weighing heavily in your throat as you heard a voice you never wanted to hear again, the pain in your heart outweighing the pain in your body.

Here’s what you would never know:

Renee collapsing the moment the portal closed, her throat raw from screaming. Deene and Asha wide-eyed and terrified as they held her to the ground, forced to restrain her to stop her from hurting herself in an attempt to get to you. The heavens opening up and weeping in accordance with your emotions, a part of you forever remaining in their lives.

_(You had known it wouldn’t last forever, but the end came far too soon for anyone)._

 

* * *

 

You were dragged into your old prison- that cursed room- under Riko’s watchful sneer, his grip on your arm like hot iron around your arm. He all but threw you in, and you collapsed in the middle like a puppet with its strings cut. You were cut in more places than should be possible, bruised and aching like a pincushion, but the pain didn’t even register to you as you fought to breathe.

He said, “A cute family, you had there. Shame they won't live for much longer,” and that was all. The door slammed behind him, not even a candle left behind.

You were left with nothing but your own mind and the ghosts of the past to keep you company in that darkness. Despair had never been so familiar.

_(They hadn’t even cleaned up the blood)._

* * *

 

The passing of time was a distant thing, when you are submerged in darkness. You don’t know how long you sat there, trapped with the bloodstains (Neil, oh Neil, oh why) and the fear (were they okay, would you see them again, did you miss Deene’s birthday) and the pain. Sometimes you wondered if you’d gone mad, when you felt like you could hear Neil’s voice or smell fresh flowers.

_(The crown of primroses Renee had made for you was left on the porch, far out of your reach now)._

Riko only came to visit you once after he’d dropped you in there, light inching through the door when it opened around him. He reeked of alcohol, of anger, and yet his expression was carved from stone when he asked:

“Why did you do it?”

You spat, “Because I love her.” And then, “Not that I’d expect someone like you to understand such a thing. You’ve probably never been liked by someone in your life.”

He stared at you for a long moment and you thought he might just stab you there and then, but he turned and left the room without another word, slamming the door behind him. You sat there in the absence of light and wondered how this room could feel so different now, when you’d known it all your life.

_(The emptiness was more suffocating now that you had known love)._

* * *

 

After what felt like years in that room you were called for an audience with your father and something like hope came into your life once more. You could handle your father- he didn’t hate you, like Riko, and was a more reasonable person than mother.  He was a person who cared more about status than anything else, and knew that sometimes concessions had to be made, so you knew that you could appeal to him.

So you struck a deal. He was sitting in the throne room with little more than a few retainers at his side, and when you entered his gaze was clinical. There was no anger, no disappointment, only business. He said:

“You caused quite a mess, when you fled. Our family name will be shamed for generations unless something is done to salvage it.”

You clasped your hands in front of you, relaxing your shoulders in order to appear unworried, “You’d need quite the miracle to get out of that. And I can provide it for you.” He said nothing and you took that as an invitation to carry on, “My weaving is second to none. I can make you something that would elevate the Reynolds name to even greater heights.”

“Oh?” His eyes were sharp as they stared at you, his voice amused (he knew what you were doing. He’d trained you, after all), “And what would you have in return for this… miracle?”

You smiled, “My freedom. When I have created this for you, I am no longer a Reynolds. You will let me return to earth, and no-one is allowed to approach me or those I associate with in any way, shape or form.”

A minute passed in silence, then two, then five as he contemplated your words, the deal you offered. It was in no way a bad deal, but the question was his pride- would he allow it? Or would he go down the route your mother would likely prefer and have you locked up until even death would be welcome? This was a familiar game, and yet the rules were always a blurry thing.

Just as you were beginning to feel the urge to fidget, he exhaled heavily through his nose, waving a hand at you in acquiescence. “Very well,” he said, “You have a deal. Make us a river of stars and you will have your freedom.”

That day hope returned to your life, and it was a tentative thing- something residing entirely on your ability to pull off an impossible feat- but you grabbed it with both hands and pulled.

_(Even a miracle seemed small in the face of seeing them again)._

* * *

 

You were moved the following day. It was your mother’s idea- she claimed, with as much drama as she could manage in the allotted fifteen minutes it took to get you from the room, through the portal, and into your new prison, that she couldn’t bear to be in the same part of the sky as you, let alone the same building. You didn’t say a word, silently grateful to be out of that cursed room and the memories that lurked there. You don’t know how far the portal took you, but the area was nowhere you were familiar with and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it was the opposite side of the galaxy.

The new room didn’t even try to be anything more than it was- a cell, complete with bars on the windows and everything. There were candles and lanterns scattered all around it to ensure you could work regardless of how dark it got, the loom was the one you had been using since you could walk, and they at least had the decency of providing you a bed instead of making you sleep on the floor, but it was undoubtedly a prison. After you had been dumped in there with all the fabrics you would need and a guard posted outside to both attend to your needs and take precautionary measures in case you try to escape, your mother left and you were alone once more.

And you began to weave. You worked tirelessly, spending every waking minute on this river of stars they wanted from you, weaving until your hands bled and your eyes ached for sleep. The guard entered three times a day to bring you food, water, and check if you needed any more fabrics or the like, but other than that you spent your days in silence. You took to humming to yourself, singing the songs Renee and Neil had taught you during those happy years, to remind yourself that they were real- that you would see them again. On some days- when the silence was maddening and you felt ghostly fingers on your shoulder, heard the screams of your children as your world plunged into darkness- you would talk to yourself. You would tell yourself stories about those you’d left behind, chant their names to you to make sure you couldn’t forget- you did anything you could, as long as it drove away the loneliness for a little bit longer.

It was hell to you, that time isolated- you’d been alone before but it wasn’t until now that you truly knew what loneliness was. It felt like part of your soul had been ripped away, not being able to see Renee, Deene or Asha- God, even the Bull would have been welcome company. But you had a goal, a hope to cling to- you could see them again, once you were done. You would be free. And all you had to do was weave.

So weave you did.

* * *

 

It took a full year before you could knock on the door and declare the river complete. It took a year and by the end of it you felt you like you’d been dragged through death by your ankles. You thought that if you looked in a mirror you wouldn’t recognise yourself (you’d probably lost weight and you wouldn’t be surprised if your face cracked if you smiled), and worried that Renee and the children wouldn’t either- it had been so long, after all. But regardless, you had finished- you had upheld your part of the deal, now your father just had to fulfill his.

An hour after you’d shared the news you were escorted from the room and through the portal to an audience with your father. He looked at you, smiling with something that you might venture to call pride but could just as easily be amusement, and said:

“What do you call it, this masterpiece of yours?”

“The Milky Way,” you declared, and then, “We had a deal.”

He nodded, “That we did. From this day forth, you are no longer my daughter.” Your mother made a noise from his side, a strangled sound, only silence when he stared at her. After a pause, he continued, “None of the Gods shall obstruct your efforts or harm anyone you associate with. You may leave now, and know that you can never return here.”

He turned away from you and you were out of the room without another word. You ran to the portal that day, your body spurred on by the desperation to get out of this place and return to your family- your real one, the people you would give your life for. It had taken you a full year, but you were finally free.

You could go home.

_(And all you could do was hope that you still had one to return to)._

* * *

 

When you stumbled out of the portal to find yourself in the center of an oh-so-familiar village, you could have cried with relief. The ground was wet against your feet, the melting snow making you shudder with the cold, and you reveled in the sensation because it wasn’t a dream. You were back. The villagers around you stopped and stared, erupting with fear and unrest at the fact that you had just stepped out of a hole in the sky, but you paid no attention to them. Only one thing mattered to you at that moment, and that was home.

_(You were home)._

You ran, dodging past villagers and buildings until you were pelting through the forest, the years of suppressed longing- of isolation and pain, grief and loneliness- burst forth like a dam had been removed. Your chest hurt with the emotion choking inside of you, your feet numb against the cold, and yet you laughed and laughed and laughed. You felt, in that moment, like you were soaring through the sky as you ran to the place you called home, the trees singing alongside, welcoming you in their embrace.

_(You were home)._

You ran until you didn’t need to run anymore- until you came to a slow at the edge of the clearing that was taken right out of your memories, until you walked out onto soft grass and saw flowers blooming all around, and there you found home. Home, the little house sitting in the centre, the building you and her had renovated from being an abandoned shack into something anyone would be proud of. It was there, you were finally there.

_(You were home)._

You walked closer to the house as though you were in a trance, delight fizzling up inside you, but as you drew closer you slowed to almost a stop. You noticed it, then, the changes you hadn’t before- the way the house appeared to be deteriorating. Vines grew around it, climbing the walls, the grass uncut and wild, the colour of wood dulled. Only the flowers remained unchanged, as neat and well-cared for as they had been before, but even then they seemed to lack vibrancy, as though reflecting the world around them. Fear came then, curdling in your gut and rising up until it was pounding against your chest, setting your heart racing and your breathing askew as you realised-

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, and what cemented that in your mind was the realisation that the Bull was nowhere to be seen. This wouldn’t be surprising if he’d gone out with Renee but you were long since accustomed to his presence and this place was empty of it. Abandoned, as though he’d left a long time ago, long enough for the very memory of his existence to fade from the earth. And that above all else fanned the terror inside you because the Bull never left Renee’s side- he’s sworn to stay by her until the end. If he was gone, then it meant that he was dead or-

( _Oh god)._

You were so deep in thought that you didn’t notice when the door opened and a man stepped out. You didn’t notice until a voice said, “Mama?” and you forgot how to breathe because God, if it wasn’t a familiar sound.

You raised your head, heart all but slamming itself against your ribs as you looked up. And then you choked out a strangled sound because there, staring at you with an expression of disbelief, was your son. Deene- the little boy who had been fifteen and barely up to your shoulders, who had watched you weave with awestruck eyes and said it was the most beautiful thing in the world, who had wrestled with his sister in the mud on a daily basis- towered over you know, with eyes that looked like they had more grief than anyone should ever see. He looked at you now like he was seeing a ghost, like you were a fragment of something long since lost, something about it all too familiar with how he was when he woke up from a nightmare and would come to you for comfort.  This was your son and yet, you could barely recognise him now- a man when you had left a boy, and your throat tightened as it felt like the confusion was drowning you.

_(It had only been a year)._

Your voice was weak when it squeezed out, shaken, as though if you were too loud this would all reveal itself to be a bad dream and you’d wake up back in bed during a time when everything was alright:

“Deene?”

Something flickered across his gaze then and before you had a moment to blink he was hugging you, his face pressed against your shoulder and arms tight around you, as though if he loosened his grip you might vanish. You felt your shoulder growing wet and he shook, whispering, “You’re real. You’re finally back. Oh, Mama.”

Your arms came around him on automatic, your fear growing stronger every passing second as he wept against your shoulder, and you asked the first question that came to mind:

“Where’s Asha?”

He shuddered, said nothing, and the realisation settled like a jagged lump of ice had taken residence in your gut. You repeated, quietly, “Where’s Asha?” and this time you already knew the answer.

He exhaled heavily and pulled away, his eyes red as he averted them to the ground. He said, “She died,” and the world around you shattered into a thousand pieces.

Your vision blurred: “What happened?”

“There was a pandemic.” He ran a hand through his hair, staring at you but not really seeing you as he said the words, ”She’d gotten a job as a doctor in the village- she’d always wanted to be one, you know, but your disappearance really cemented that for her. She moved there, found a wife and was doing well for herself- you’d have been proud. But then the disease hit- they called it smallpox. It wiped out thousands. She died before the cure was found.” Your mouth was dry and none of what he said made sense, but then he said the words that caused your heart to stop, “That was four years ago, now.”

“Four years?” You felt cold, like you had been plunged into cold water as his words echoed in your ears. How could it have been four years? And your daughter- so beautiful and young and strong, who would have fought the whole world for her family if need be- dead? It couldn’t be, it had to be a dream. Yes, it was all a horrible dream. You’d only been inside that room one year after all, you were sure of it, though you couldn’t say how long had passed before that. You’d counted every day, so this couldn’t be possible- unless…

Unless they’d moved you farther than you’d thought.

Unless they’d taken you so far across the universe that time passed differently. But no, that would be too cruel, even for them. Surely it couldn’t be.

Your voice trembled, “How long has it been since I was taken?”

“Thirty years,” he said, and it sounded like a funeral bell.

You stumbled, feeling like the earth was falling away beneath you as your breath came in tight gasps, your throat burning with every inhale. Shaking, drowning, this couldn’t be possible, this couldn’t be real, _this could not be real_. No, no, no, please God no, this was all just a dream, this was just a terrible _terrible_ dream and you would wake up to find Renee there, asking if you were alright and oh. Oh God, Renee. If thirty years had passed then what had happened to Renee? She wasn’t here with Deene and you knew she’d never leave the house, she should be here to greet you, but she wasn’t and the Bull wasn’t here. _The Bull wasn’t here._ She hadn’t been young before, not at all, so if that long had passed that by now she would be-

You thought you might throw up, only the cold of Deene’s hands against your arms providing you any sort of anchor, a small comfort in a world gone mad. “And Renee?” you asked, not really sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

He blinked once before averting his gaze, as though by not looking you in the eye he could hide the pain radiating off of his expression. Dread was familiar to you by this point, taking up residence in your gut as you felt your body shake apart as you thought up a thousand reasons for his silence.

Then he said, “She’s still alive,” and relief settled in for a brief moment, your fingers grasping it greedily before he continued, “But barely. I don’t think- She’s not-“ He sighed, “She won’t last much longer.”

 You felt like your heart was being crushed inside your chest, your head spinning in the wake of this- this _nightmare._ You asked, “Can I see her?” and somehow felt like it was the last thing you wanted to do, even though you’d longed for it this past year (but that wasn’t true now, was it? It had been thirty years, gone and passed without you even knowing).

He nodded, something akin to reluctance flickering across his face before he turned and led you through the house. You kept your eyes on the floor, unable to bring yourself to look around and see how the once bright place you had called home had become dim, drained of life as those inside it rotted away. Every footstep sounded like a funeral bell and when he opened the door to a room- your room, the room that had once been a haven for you and your wife- you fought not to choke at the stench at decay.

He entered before you and said in a soft voice to a figure who lay there, “Mom, someone came to see you. It’s a visitor you’re gonna love, Mom- you always said she’d come back.”

You stepped in after him and the sound the left your throat was a strangled sob because there, lying on the bed, looking like little more than a ghost, was Renee. And God, time hadn’t been kind to her- she looked like little more than a shadow of the woman from your memories. Her hair, once so vibrant, was now grey and lifeless where it lay limp against her scalp, as though it too was waiting for the inevitable.  Her skin was wrinkled and fragile, as though she had been carved from aged parchment that was just waiting to fall apart, pale enough that you could have mistaken her for a corpse. Her eyes were closed and if it wasn’t for the weak rise and fall of her chest you might have thought she was already dead, but then- as the sound of Deene’s words, at your cry- they blinked open weakly. She peered out across the room, scanning as though searching for something, and you knew she could not see you when asked, “Allison?” with all the hope of a women waiting for the impossible.

And with that, you were gone. You stumbled over to her, the strength in your legs fading as the tears fell freely now. You clasped her hand in both of yours, collapsing at her side, and you said, “I’m here, Renee. A little late, but I came back.”

Your eyes burned, throat stung, and that was the first time you wished you could die if it meant you could spend a moment longer with her.

_(You didn’t see the primrose lying by her side. When you did, you would wish you hadn’t)._

“I’m so glad.”

She smiled, hand weakly squeezing yours back and you could barely even feel the pressure, so feather light it was, skin too cold against yours; everything was wrong and that was what made your tears fall harder. That was what made you understand ‘ _ah. So this is what it’s like to watch someone die._

_This is what it means to be human.’_

Her voice grew weaker with every word, but still she pushed on, “I love you, Allison- I always will.”

‘I love you too,’ you wanted to say, but the words were stuck in your throat as you cried and cried.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t-” she coughed, blood coming up, and you cursed the world, “-save y-ou. I failed... our promise.” You shook your head frantically, trying desperately to reassure her that it was fine, to tell her that you loved her because that was the one universal truth in the world, but the words would not come, and she couldn’t see you. Her eyes slid shut and she was fading from your grip and no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, this wasn’t- it _couldn’t-_

_(But it was and you knew it could)._

She breathed, “I’m glad- I saw you one last time,” and then she was gone. Her hand went limp in yours, the fingers stilled where they were curled weakly around yours. Her entire body froze, as though the life had been hacked away with a knife, her lips frozen in a smile. She would never open her eyes again, never laugh, never say ‘I love you,’ and you felt the world shatter around you as you cried your heart out. You shook, clinging to the hand of a corpse, barely noticing Deene’s arms coming around you, barely heard his own sobs. You didn’t notice that you were screaming her name, begging her to wait even though she couldn’t hear you anymore- all you knew was that Renee was gone and with her, she’d taken your heart.

_(You loved each other more than anything, and yet the world tried to separate you. It fought to ruin you, to drag apart this love that should never have happened and leave you to suffer in pieces, left behind in a world where you’d never be whole. Because she was half of you, all of you- without her, you would never be able to live. You would never love._

_And in the end, the world won, for she was dead and you could never join her)._

 

 

_You should never have met..._


	2. We're bigger than we ever dreamed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occurs one hundred and fifty years after part 1: Renee POV.

_...And yet yours was a meeting that would defy time and fate._

 

 

You were born and raised in a small village on the outskirts of a dense wood and it was said that, in a house deep in these woods where even animals wouldn’t venture, lived a witch. Though people rarely caught even a glimpse of her, it was one of the facts of life: fire was hot, water was wet, and a witch lived in the woods. She never aged, never changed, as stagnant and peculiar as the forest itself- some said she’d been there as long as the village had. The villagers told tales about her, stories meant to warn children away from the forest. Some believed she ate children and weary travelers who were drawn astray, cut them up and boiled their hearts for her powers. Others said she was a malevolent spirit, brought life because of the woods resentment at their presence there. Rumours inspired rumours to the point that no-one was really sure what was the truth and what wasn’t, but throughout the stories there remained a common theme:

Each and every one of them said she was evil. They said, don’t go into the woods, and this was taken to be a rule of life by most people- but not you. Never you. For some reason you couldn’t explain- some feeling that had always, always been there inside you, even when you were little more than a newborn- you felt drawn to the woods. You’d gravitate towards them, something tugging inside your chest as though if you didn’t go there you might die from longing. You felt, with certainty that not even you understood, that there was something you needed to see there.

_(That it was a place you belonged)._

But this was not a feeling to be encouraged- in fact, you spent most of your life with the caretakers in charge of the orphanage trying to do the exact opposite. The few times you’d mentioned it- when you were young and didn’t yet understand that it was not wise to air your every thought- the sisters had eyed you warily, muttering under their breaths about _‘oh dear, she’s under a spell already_ ,’ and _‘best be careful she isn’t spirited away,_ ’ before you found yourself grounded without an explanation for weeks. Anyone caught trying to sneak into the woods got a slap on the wrist and weren’t allowed to leave the orphanage for months until they were deemed safe. Every single day the sisters recited a warning, every night a tale meant to scare.

You learnt not tell anyone about it, to keep the feeling close to your chest and hide it there, where no-one could glimpse it. The sister’s eventually forgot about the days when you were thought unsafe, and you were given free reign with the other ‘not dangerous’ children. But ignoring it didn’t make the feeling go away, and it grew stronger with every passing day, until it reached the point that on some nights you’d find yourself having to physically pull yourself away from it. It was unbearable, so when your friends (two other girls who were in the safe category) made a dare to go into the woods and try to steal something from the witch’s house, you were more than willing to join.

You waited until it was nearly dark before sneaking out, slipping into the woods without anyone else noticing. The trees seemed to watch your every movement, towering over you as you crept through the unkempt grass. Nellie was shaking beside you, eyes darting nervously this way and that, whilst Jeanie was jumping between excitement and fear, equally loud in both. You felt strange- like something was guiding you, like the tug in your chest was growing more urgent- but no fear came.

_(It felt like you were going home)._

You walked for what felt like hours and were beginning to wonder if you’d gotten horribly lost, when the trees parted and you came out into a little clearing. And in the clearing stood a house-ivy coiling around the small building like a shield, cradling it in defiance against what might harm it,  so deeply intertwined you might have thought they were part of the wood. The building itself was small and the style ancient (you think they stopped making buildings like that years ago, when the style went out of fashion), yet it seemed to have escaped the ravages of time, the wood appearing as new as some of the buildings in the village. The grass around it was clean cut and cared for, a stark difference to the rest of the forest, and if you weren’t hallucinating then you might have said that it seemed… brighter, than the rest of the forest. As though the very life of it had been altered somehow. A small garden sat near the house, with plants and crops enough to feed a family of five, and there was a little barn that could fit an animal if need be.

But what drew your attention the most was the flowers. The entire clearing was filled with flowers, each blooming as strong and beautiful as if they had been gifted with the vitality of Leah herself. You saw camellias and hyacinths, carnations and chrysanthemums, ambrosia and azalea, every petal brighter and more vivid than the last. You stared dazed at them all and wondered if this was some kind of witch secret, that they all had a green thumb.

Nearest to the little house, in an area of grass otherwise untouched by flowers, was a little patch of primroses, and in the center of them sat three slabs of rock. Graves, you realised with a jolt, each with something carved in to them. You thought about who they might have been for, and felt something grow heavy inside you. You clutched at your chest, your hand shaking as you did so, and wondered if you were cold or if the fear was finally catching up to you. Neither of the others seemed to share your sudden distraction, as Jeanie dashed forward and ripped a primrose from the ground, letting out of a crow of triumph as she did so. She waved it in the air, dancing around:

“I did it! I am the champion! Ha, no stupid witch can scare me-“

“What do you think you are you doing?” The voice cut through Jeanie’s, sharp and practically dripping in anger, and the temperature in the field seemed to drop. Jeanie froze, colour draining from her face, the flower dropping to the floor as her grip slackened. You dragged your eyes from her to see who had spoken, and found yourself meeting the dark eyes of the witch. She loomed in the doorway like a creature from another world, her beauty like something you read in a fairytale book and holy shit, there actually was a witch- you might have thought you were dreaming, but she was gripping the doorway like it was her lifeline and you didn’t think hallucinations could touch doors (unless the door was also a hallucination). The witch breathed out through her nose, an annoyed exhale, and her eyes scanned across the clearing to take in the situation.

And then you felt like the air in your lungs turned to ash as they came to a stop on you. Something flashed through the green then, her entire demeanour shifting as it seemed like she had seen something important in you- had recognised something. Her mouth opened and all that came out was an aborted sound, something almost akin to a cry, and you found yourself frozen to the spot. Something inside you ached, holding you there as if it was the only place in the world you needed to be, and a dizziness made itself known. The witch took a step forwards, her hand reaching out to you,  and you wondered if that was it what it was to be under a spell. But then Nellie grabbed your arm and shouted, the previous atmosphere fissuring around the clearing as you were dragged away. Jeanie came scrambling after you, flower left forgotten, and together you sprinted through the woods, leaving behind the witch and what had happened there.

Your heart was pounded against your ribs, but you didn’t think that running was the cause.

_(You wonder why it felt like you’d left someone important behind that day)._

* * *

 

The three of you stumbled in to the orphanage when dawn was slowly beginning to poke its way into the sky, disheveled and panting and desperate for the comfort of bed, only to run head first into one of the Sister’s. She dragged you to the Head Sister, who then proceeded to shout at you, but you didn’t hear a word. The warnings- the anger at how you blatantly ignored them, putting not only yourselves but _the whole village_ in _danger_ , the ranting about just how awful an offence this was- all went over your head, ears ringing as the world seemed to fade away around you. All you could see was the witches visage, the way she looked at you in that brief moment of contact, and you felt like something in you had been torn open. Her voice replayed over and over in your mind, the sight of the pain in her expression making your heart play the same beat like it was all it knew- it all churned and bulged around you until it felt like you might collapse under the weight of it all.

(You felt like something had began to turn in that moment, as though time had been kickstarted and you were only truly learning what it felt like to live. You felt like something was calling for you just as loudly as you called for it.

You felt like you had spent your entire life plunged in fog and only now was it lifting, like seeing the witch had been the first time you’d glimpsed the sun). 

The Head Sister eventually grew tired of yelling and the three of you were sent to your rooms with a slap on your wrists and a stern promise that you weren’t allowed to leave the premises for a week. You shuffled from the room in a sombre line, and when you finally dropped into your bed, your mind refused to settle. You huddled into the sheets, clutching at them as though they might shield you from the wanderings of your mind, and stared up at the dark ceiling, rewatching the same scene play out in your mind again and again.

_(When you finally fell asleep, it was to the ghost of a promise whispering in your ears and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again)._

* * *

 

_The first time you saw her, you had thought that you had stumbled into a dream. It seemed logical enough as you found yourself unable to look away, scarcely able to even blink for fear of breaking the spell. There was something untouchable about her, the gleam of her hair like the gentle beauty of the moon, the sunlight swaying towards her like a lovestruck poet. The water danced around her when she turned to face you, her eyes so vibrant that you felt like you were staring into the depths of life itself, and for a moment you feared she might vanish. But she didn’t vanish or transform, merely remained frozen, eyes trained on you, and eventually concern forced its way through any of your lingering awe. You asked if she was alright, and her expression contorted into something vicious, powerful, and the contrast almost made you laugh because that was real. That was human._

_(Luckily Bull seemed content to laugh for you)._

_She snarled at you, her voice like a chorus of songbirds even with the crackle of fire simmering underneath, and you hid a smile behind your hand. Your first conversation with her was neither memorable or particularly friendly, but it was one you would treasure for years to come, one that you would forever look at as one of the greatest moments of your life. When she left the waters depths, you averted your gaze, pushing aside any reluctance to do so. But, regardless of your fears, she didn’t vanish whilst you weren’t looking, and when you returned your gaze to her she was still standing there, her head lifted to the sky. You watched her as the sky split and a swarm of birds descended to carry her back to the sky. The sunset burned around her, making her hair look like it was spun from flame and gold alike, and in that moment you thought you’d witnessed a creature spun from magic._

_You watched as she disappeared with the stars as her carpet and the world as her audience, and only when the sky was turning dull in the face of dusk did you turn away, climbing onto Bull to once more head home._

_(You left that day and felt more alive than you had before. You hoped that you could see her again)._

* * *

 

A cry tore its way from your throat, half-strangled in the afternoon sun as your hand stretched out before you, fingers scrambling to grasp the figure that faded along with your dream. You struggled to breathe, mouth painfully dry as you let your hand fall back to the sheets with a thump, and closed your eyes. The images flickered across your eyelids once more, so vivid in their presence that you could scarcely trust that it was a dream.

( _It felt like it had been something more- a memory, almost, or a vision)._

But it didn’t make sense, it couldn’t have been you- you’d been too tall, your body so far contrasting to your present state it was almost alien, and you certainly didn’t know a laughing bull- and yet, it felt real; it felt familiar. You hadn’t felt strange- in fact, it had felt natural, as though you were meant to be taller, to be stronger, as though it was your current form that was wrong. And then the figure, the strange woman- you knew them and yet you didn’t. They felt so familiar, so achingly dear that it made you want to weep, and yet you couldn’t understand why.

_(It was like they were simultaneously a stranger and someone dear, like you were missing something- something important, but none of it made sense)._

And yet, as you lay there in the hard bunk of the orphanage, the sunlight leering down at you through the window, you were able to place the face, to curl your fingers around the early stages of an idea of who they were, even if the why remained a distant ambition. It was the witch, the woman who had looked at you yesterday like you held all the answers in the universe, like you were a miracle she’d long since given up hope.

_(The woman who was called a curse on the village and yet looked at you like she would someone thought dead)._

And as you lay there, with nothing more than the fraying edges of a dream slipping through your fingers and a series of sensations, images, feelings that weren’t yours- couldn’t be yours- yet settled into your heart like they belonged there, you came to a decision. Lying there in bed, sweat clinging to your skin and breath laboured in your chest, resolution eased its way into your bones, and you knew:

You had to go back. You had to see the witch one more time.

* * *

 

You waited three weeks before trying again- enough time that the Sister’s were no longer eying your every move to see if you were going to be a repeat offender. You snuck into the woods alone and unnoticed, expecting it to be easy enough to get to the witch’s house now that you’d already been there once before, only to be met by failure. You wandered for hours, searching, but the woods themselves seemed to thwart your attempts, the trees moving about so you couldn’t find a familiar landmark, shifting and guiding you away from your goal, anything that might serve as a path disappearing when you so much as blinked. Every attempt found you back where you started no matter what direction you headed, as though entry was forbidden to you.

_(You wondered if it was the witch’s doing, if she somehow knew of your task and was refusing to let you near, or if the woods had a mind of their own, trying to protect her from any who might cause her harm; from you._

_You’re not sure which idea hurt more)._

But you persisted, regardless of the sting of rejection in your heart and the fact you’d come from these searches shivering and feeling a bone deep exhaustion that never wavered (it didn’t help that what little sleep you got was haunted by dreams, by the repetitive images that played through your mind until you knew them like you knew your own name). It felt too important to give up, like this something you had to do, even if it killed you. Every night you could get away without notice you hunted through the woods, walking for hours on end in search of the little house and the woman you knew would be waiting there amongst the flowers. And with every attempt, the woods seemed to waver, the trees hesitating to interfere. It became easier to navigate, the search less unpleasant with this careful warmth that settled in, as though bit by bit it was giving in to your resolve.

_(You never saw the woman watching you search, never witnessed the conflict that played across her face. You didn’t see the moment she gave in and the woods finally, finally opened up the path for you)._

* * *

 

Your final search came on a night when the moon was in full view, a celebration having rendered most of the Sister’s in an alcohol-induced sleep that meant you were safe to leave at your leisure. The cold air bit at your skin, the patchy winter cloak you clutched around you doing little to keep you warm, and you bit back a shiver. You walked into the woods, your foot catching on a tree root, and felt something spark inside of you. For a moment you stood there, a hand touching the rough bark of the tree, and thought you’d seen something. A vision, a glimpse- like someone had shown you the way. Like the path was something being offered to you, a welcome instead of a rejection.

You walked and it was like your feet moved on their own, guided by something you couldn’t explain. You walked through the woods as you had dozens of times before, only this time you knew without a doubt that you were heading towards the witch. You knew that this was the time you would meet her again.

_(Your eyes burned and it wasn’t from the cold)._

She hobbled in to the clearing    and held her breath at the sight of the flowers swaying in the moonlight, petals seeming to glow in the dark.  The house stood hunched in the clearing, vines coiling around it like an embrace, a protection. Beside the house sat a trio of gravestones, the rock gleaming and well cared for, fresh flowers encircling them like a shield, a blanket to protect them from the world. But what drew her gaze was the witch, standing tall and proud in the moonlight, head canted up at the moon.

When you finally hobbled into the clearing, your breath was snatched away by the wind as you laid eyes on the scene before you. The house stood untouched, identical as it had the last time you had seen it, but something about the moonlight made it seem different, as though you’d stepped into another world. The flowers swayed in the wind, dancing to music no human could hear, and in the center of them all stood the witch.

In that moment she looked like a woman woven from the threads of dreams, crafted by the care of the God’s. Her skin was darker in the moonlight, shadows casting a heaviness on the same canvas that sunlight made warm. Her head was canted up at the moon, eyes drinking in the night sky like it held the answers she was desperately searching for, and when they turned on you your approach stuttered under the weight. You stared into piercing green and felt like you’d been turned into stone, as though she could read your every secret, every flaw, stripping away everything and leaving you bare in the face of her scrutiny.

Silence hung between you, your determination deserting you as you were left floundering for what to do, before the witch asked, “Why do you keep coming here?” her voice tired and raw, a defensiveness to the words as though she was under attack. You thought then that, facing you like this, she didn’t look like a witch or a spirit or a demon: she looked for all the world like a woman who’d been abandoned by the world, who fought to keep herself upright in the face of agony unthinkable. She looked human- one buried in so much pain and misery- and your hand twisted in the hem of your dress at the realisation, a calm settling over you.

You said, “I wanted to see you,” and you meant every word.

She scoffed, brows crinkling as she mocked, “What, not afraid of the big bad witch? Don’t believe I’ll eat you? Put you in a potion for eternal youth?”

You shook your head, ignoring the trembling of your hands as you met her gaze square with your own. You said, “I don’t believe someone with such honest eyes can be evil,” clinging to the last shreds of reckless resilience that you had.

The witch simply stared at you for a long time, something flickering across her face that you couldn’t read, before she glanced away. She laughed then, a quiet, bitter sound that sounded far too watery, and muttered, “Still the same as always.” Curiosity bristled beneath your skin at the comment, but before you got a chance to linger the witch began to walk back to the hut. You were left standing there, confused and uncertain as to what to do- what it meant- and considered calling after her, but the witch paused as her hand grasped the doorhandle.

She glanced back at you and said, “Do what you want,” before she was gone, disappearing into the hut with a swish of cloth and hair. The door was left ajar, an invitation beckoning you to its warmth, and you blinked once. Twice, mind sluggishly trying to comprehend the action, not quite able to believe it was really happening. Then a grin spread across your face and you hurried to follow, to enter the place the witch called home. You barely noticed the easing of the tug in your chest as it was finally appeased, or the way the sound the door made when it opened made something bloom inside your heart.

_(You didn’t notice anything beyond the fact that you’d finally found the witch, that the victory made you feel like you could fly)._

* * *

 

The inside of the house was surprising simply because of how utterly _ordinary_ it looked. The stories always made it seem like there’d be an assortment of decapitated body parts placed on various surfaces, smoke billowing out of every corner, books of curses stacked along the walls like a barrier from the mundane. You’d expected to see bloodied weapons and mysterious items of unknown magical properties, for dust and cobwebs to coat every surface, for it to look more like something that belonged in an underground cavern than, well, normal.

But no, it looked for all the world like a normal home, and one that had been well cared for at that. Not a speck of dust was to be found, every surface gleaming as though the witch had cast a spell on it. There were fabrics draped all around the house, ranging from tapestries and curtains hanging along the walls to a pile of what looked like blankets lying in the corner. Flowers were dotted here and there, sitting inside glasses and jars wherever there was a surface for them, as though the witch couldn’t bear to be without a flower nearby.  It looked like a home, and you drank in the sight of it, as though it could offer you some insight to the witch and her secrets.

A blanket was thrown at you, startling you out of your reverie as you fumbled to catch it. You stared at it confused before glancing blankly at the witch. She raised an eyebrow, saying, “You’re shivering. I don’t want any brats dying of cold in my house.”

You nodded wordlessly, wrapping it around your shoulders without a second thought. It was soft against your touch, the fabric warmer than the thin wool you had in the orphanage, and you shuddered as you felt the cold ease away. You clutched it close to you and said, “Thank you.”

The witch inclined her head and eyed you as though sizing you up clinically, before clicking her tongue in annoyance. She moved through another door, only pausing momentarily to beckon you to follow, and that was how you found yourself sitting at a table in what looked like a kitchen. You sat there, dazed, as the witch proceeded to bustle about the kitchen with a determination about her, as though now she had a purpose that she would fulfill no matter what it took. She was cooking, you realised, and all of a sudden you felt out of your depth. It felt like you had plunged head first into a river, not knowing what you would find, and now the currents were dragging you on a journey of their choosing. You’d found the witch, managed to enter her house, and now what? What comes after?

_(And then there was the melancholy that washed over you sitting there, something prickling in your eyes. It felt like this was a moment you’d been wanted for a long time, and yet you couldn’t grasp why)._

The silence was heavy in the air, only broken by the sound of the witch’s work, and you felt choked in it. Unsure of what else to do, you burst out, “My name is Natalie,” for lack of anything else to do. Whatever you had expected as a response (her name, perhaps), it certainly wasn’t for the witch’s hand to jolt, the spoon slipping from her hand as she went stock still. She stood there like that for a while, face hidden from view, her body so stiff you thought she might snap into several pieces, and you felt discomfort creep up your spine as you wondered if you’d said something wrong. You were about to apologise before the witch lowered her head, reaching to pick up the spoon from where it had fallen, and then going back to stirring the soup as though nothing had happened.

(And yet her movements seemed slower, as though ice had crept into her bones, taking away any of the pleasure there had been before).

You didn’t say anything else, kept your head bowed down until the witch murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, “It’s a nice name.” The comment made something warm bubble up inside you and when you glanced up at the witch again, her shoulders seemed less tense than they had been, the strange atmosphere dissolved. You beamed, and this time the quiet you shared didn’t feel so suffocating.

After a while the witch placed a bowl of steaming hot soup and some bread in front of you, before settling down into the seat opposite with a cup of tea clasped between her hands. She grumbled, “Eat it or don’t, I don’t care either way,” not quite looking at you fully, and you huffed a laugh.

Your stomach groaned and- not being one to deny such encouragement- you proceeded to dig in, swallowing it down like you were half starved. The witch was quiet as she sipped her tea, and the two of you sat there like that until you’d finished, the bowl wiped clean with several pieces of bread.  You leaned back, sighing in a satisfaction, and thanked her. The only acknowledgement you received was a hum and you adjusted the blanket on your shoulders, clutching it tighter. Deciding that if the witch hadn’t killed you yet then it was unlikely she was going to do so any time soon and you _had_ come here because you wanted to learn about her, so you asked, “Do you do magic?”

The witch glanced up at you, her eyebrows scrunched together in what you thought was confusion but could just as easily have been distaste. “Magic,” she repeated back to you, her tongue curling around the word as though it was foreign to her.

“Yes. Magic.”

“The only magic I know is on the loom.”

You sat up straighter at that, mind racing with what she could mean by that (you’d never seen a witch work magic before so you didn’t know how it worked). Interest piqued, you asked, “Can I watch?”

She eyed you carefully for a moment, something heavy in her gaze, but you met it steadily, not wavering because you could be stubborner than a mule when it came down to it. Eventually she closed her eyes and sighed in resignation, “Do as you like.”

You grinned, victory a warm weight on your shoulders, and jumped up from the chair eagerly. The witch placed her cup on the table before standing up, leading you through another door. This new room was larger than the previous one, and yet the sheer amount of things inside it made it appear as though there was less room to breathe, let alone move. It was cluttered with more cloth than you had ever seen before, ranging from items like clothing piled in the corners to baskets filled with threads. And there, in the center of the room, sat the most beautiful loom you had ever seen (granted, it was the only loom you’d ever seen, but still). It was a massive creature of fine oak, evidently well cared for from how it had been polished till it gleamed, and to your eyes it seemed like it was something out of another world.

_(There was something untouchable about it, just like the rest of the house. As though they had been crafted out of dreams)._

The witch gestured for you to sit so you made yourself comfortable on a cushion that was near the loom, whilst she sat in front of it. You watched as the witch fiddled about, setting it up for use, and then.

And then she began to weave.

It was, you thought vaguely, struggling to try and drag yourself into something resembling coherency, rather like watching someone dance. The witch’s fingers were graceful in their movements, working the loom as if it were music and she were the conductor. She seemed to brighten then, her expression softening into something that could almost be considered a smile, the things that burdened her slipping away as she weaved and weaved and weaved. She was a dancer and this was her stage, her spotlight, and it was entrancing in its beauty.

You watched, transfixed, awestruck, and couldn’t look away- scarcely dared to blink, as though if you did you might miss something vital. You wondered if this was what they meant by magic.

_(That was the first moment you thought that this might be dangerous. You felt like you were caught in a web of your own making, being dragged deeper into the winding cage as you reached to peel back the layers of mystery surrounding the witch. You wanted to understand her like it was burning you, and you knew somehow that there would be no escape once you did._

_You should have been running to the hills and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn away)._

* * *

 

Time had seemed a distant concept whilst you were in the witch’s house, like it was a place completely cut off from the rest of the world- like it was a place where not even reality can try to interfere. You ended up staying until the night sky was already beginning to fade and the witch scowled:

“Don’t you have some place to go?”

 And with that, reality came crashing back down and boy, it was not a good one. You knew that if you didn’t get back to the orphanage soon then the sister’s would find your empty bed and then- then you were well and truly fucked.

_(Getting caught once was one thing, but a second time? They’d never let you off the premises again)._

Just as breathing was becoming hard and you felt like you were suffocating, like every press of your lungs was a knife to the eye; just as you were falling into that pit of clawing, slimy panic that swallows you up and spits you out, leaving you as less than what you were before; just as you thought _this is it this is how I die_ \- a hand closed on your shoulder and squeezed gently, dragging you back out of it. The witch was looking down at you, scowl softened slightly with something (you might have called it concern but that seemed like it would be presumptuous of you, considering you’d only met her that night. Though considering the fact that you’d barged your way into her house, maybe you were a little bit past that). She averted her eyes, and went to grab a cloak from her wall, wrapping it around herself with a pointed glance at you.

“Come on then, kid. I’ll walk you back.”

“What?”

She huffed, “If you turn up dead because you got lost somewhere then I’m the one who’ll get blamed.” And then, when you didn’t make any attempt to move, “Well come on then, morning won’t wait for you.”

Now _that_ had you scrambling up, knocking you out of the dumbstruck statue that you had been imitating, and the witch let out a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh as you hurried to catch up to her. The woods seemed more alive than they had before, more like a place thriving in beauty than a graveyard. Flowers bloomed up everywhere and the trees seemed to relax into themselves, shrinking down now that they were no longer needed to guard. It was strange, as though the witch’s presence was a beacon, the sun- something it thrived in, welcoming her into it’s embrace. It guided her where it had repelled you, parting to make a path for her, and the witch in turn showed the woods nothing but warmth. She was careful, considerate, occasionally stopping you to prevent you from stepping on a patch of flowers, and every now and then her hand would brush against a tree trunk, as though giving thanks. The only word you could think of to describe the scene was magic, and you could barely bring yourself to blink, as though if you did you might miss something important.

_(Looking at her then, surrounded by the woods and moonlight, all of which seemed to adore her every breath, and you could believe that she wasn’t human. You could believe that she was something special)._

After a while the witch drew to a stop, and you stumbled to match it, glancing at her in question. She nodded at something just ahead, and you saw an area where the trees seemed thinner, where the forest seemed to open up.

"If you head straight through that then you’ll find yourself where you need to go.”

And then she walked away, bringing her hood up to cover her face. You opened your mouth to say something but the trees swallowed her up and it was like she’d never been there, all traces vanishing. For a moment, you just hung there, a weight in your chest as you thought of how it felt with this sudden loss of her presence, thinking about that night. But then you sighed, shaking yourself off, and returned to the real world- to the village, where there was no magic or witches or living forests.

_(And yet, it didn’t feel like returning home. It didn’t feel like it was the place you were supposed to be going)._

 

You stumbled into bed minutes later, miraculously avoiding notice, dawn fast on your heels. The room was still around you, the only sounds the sound of breathing, and you sighed in relief that nobody had stirred. Fatigue made itself known once you were burrowed in to the sheets at last, the rush of the night drifting away from you. You were asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, tumbling once more into a dream.

_(This time, you dreamed of flowers, of a name you can’t remember, of hair like silk against your fingers. This time, you dreamed of green and gold, of hyacinths and ravens, and when you woke up you felt like you were being crushed by your own heart. You reached to touch your cheek and your fingers came away wet)._

* * *

 

You’d thought seeing the witch would make the dreams stop, but instead it made them worse. Every night you would see a dream, each one more vivid than the last, and you would wake up feeling things you knew but didn’t- things you should understand but slipped from your fingers just when you thought you had them.

( _It felt more like you were living it than dreaming)._

Seeing the witch made it worse, and yet you continued to go visit her. It was like that first visit had awoken a need inside you- not a day went by when you didn’t want to see the witch. So, naturally, you went to see her. She welcomed you, begrudgingly at first, but growing warmer over time, the brusqueness to her tone fading off with each visit.

(You thought it was because she was growing fond of you, but she just said it was prolonged exposure).

With time, she relaxed around you- not by much, at least not at first, but her guard would fall for just a moment and something would slip through the cracks. They were rare, these moments, and you thought you might be grateful for it, because they always left you feeling unsteady; left you feeling like you’d seen something you shouldn’t be privy to. Maybe it was because they always happened when she was looking at you- the hardness would slip away to allow something so warm and fond and potent to make itself known, her face seeming to glow in the light of this emotion, radiant and _alive._

_(It was in those moments that she looked most like the figure from your dreams)._

But then, inevitably, she would catch herself. She’d shake herself out of a dream- a memory, a lapse, something- and her face would sink. The hardness would return, the steel formed when one has experienced sorrow for too long, and it would be like the moment had never happened. It was because of these- these small moments that happened so rarely but were so important when they did- that you realised you’d never seen the witch smile.

_(At least, not in real life. You thought of the figure in your dreams- whose lips would curl upwards and the world would sing its joy- and felt a pang. You wanted to see it, you realised- you wanted to see her smile. You wanted her to be happy._

_So you made a vow, right there and then, to make her smile again. You vowed to make her happy, not knowing how much deeper into Fate’s web this sent you tumbling down)._

* * *

 

Over the first two months of visiting, you learned a lot about the witch- like how she liked the moon, she couldn’t bear the smell of perfume, and that she cleaned the grave stones every day- which was why it was embarrassing how much time it took you to realise that you didn’t actually know her name. Hell, you didn’t even know if she _had_ a name- did witches have names?

_(She was the first witch you’d ever met, so you didn’t exactly have much experience to reference)._

But you’d never been one to let things lie- especially things you didn’t like and you really didn’t like not knowing her name (it felt distant, impersonal. Like you were still at the same point you’d been at the start)- so you attempted to fix this grave problem straight away:

“What’s your name?”

The witch didn’t even falter in her weaving, continuing on with the same single minded focus she always dedicated to performing her magic, so you repeated yourself. Twice, because three times the charm. The witch huffed, still not stopping even, expression unreadable:

“I heard you the first time.”

“So what is it?”

A pause hung in the air for a very long time, until it was reaching the point where you were beginning to consider repeating the question again, before she finally said:

“Allison.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” and she was frowning, head tilted downwards as though trying to hide her face with her hair, and you realised- with a start- that she was embarrassed (though you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out why). “It’s Allison.”

You smiled, wide, testing the name out on your tongue, “Allison.” And then you nodded firmly, “A good name.”

The witch let out a slightly strangled humph sound, which was peculiar, but you didn’t get to linger on it before it was time to go.

_(Later, when you were lying in bed, you mouthed the name to yourself, a warmth spreading through you at every syllable, every sound. It felt you’d gained something important, and you held tight to the feeling with all you knew)._

* * *

Six months after you started to visit Allison (and the rush of knowing her name never faded, not even with all that time), the Bull entered your life. He was just thee one day, lounging outside the house with Allison sat beside him, both of them bickering with an underlying fondness that spoke of a two beings who’d been forced to spend far too much time with eachother. Both looked up when you stepped into view, and the Bull said, with the tone of someone who’d just seen something rather peculiar:

“You became a pipsqueak.”

Now, for anyone else, having a very large bovine- particularly one they’d seen inside their dreams- insult them would have been something peculiar and maybe even terrifying, but for you it- well. It just fit, really. He felt familiar in the same way Allison did, comfortable, and you were learning that there was little point in questioning that. As it was, you were more offended because:

“I’ll have you know I’m tall for my age group.”

He let out a strange exhale of air that you took to be laughter: “Right, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You're a cowfart.”

“That doesn't make sense, tiny.”

"You don't make sense."

And that, really, was how he integrated himself into your life. Two became three and with it, a routine of sorts developed- an understanding that slipped into place so seamlessly you’d have thought it was there from the beginning. You’d go visit Allison whenever you could, and sometimes the Bull would turn up too- either meeting you on the way or just appearing in that uncanny way of his.

_(“Like a bad rash,” Allison groused once, but not unkindly, “Always turning up when you don’t want him.”_

_“Like you’ve ever had a rash, your highness.”_

_“I don’t want to hear that from someone who eats flies.”_

_“One time. Just one time.”_

_“Once too many.”)_

Sometimes, you’d go to see the Bull, Allison being forced to come with you (you weren’t above dragging her, a feat you somehow managed despite her being an adult).

_(“If you’re going to bring baggage then at least bring something useful.”_

_“Says the talking cow.”_

_“There’s only one person here who can be considered a cow and it isn’t me.”_

_“Then next time we’ll bring a knife, have the butcher decide. I’ve heard steak is worth a pretty penny these days.”_

_“Perhaps, but with your reputation they’d stone you before you got anywhere near the butchers.”_

_“Touche. Doesn’t change the fact you’re in denial, cowface.”_

_“Oh, copying the child now, witch?”)_

Sometimes, you’d go to find them like they were on that first day, sitting together, sharing eachothers company in either quiet, or bickering that never crossed the line from being amiable.

_(“You’re looking at me like I have horns.”_

_“You do have horns.”)_

Other times- the ones that seemed to happen the most often, the ones that made worry a familiarity in your life- the Bull would disappear. It was always without a word, and could often be for months on end. No matter how much you searched you could never find him, and when you asked Allison about it she was tight lipped.

“It’s not my story to share,” was all she’d say.

During those times, you’d find your mind wandering, the dreams becoming slightly more disturbing- telling you of a young girl with blood on her hands, of a young girl who met a God that made her a promise- but, eventually, you’d go back to the house to find him there, waiting with a snarky remark or something, and things would return to normal.

_(Whatever way you gathered, whether you were together or not, it was always the three of you)._

* * *

_(There were times when Allison would look at you and double take, like she was startled to see you as you were- like she expected you to be taller or older or have horns. Those times would lead to her staring at you, eyes a weight on your head, searching for something with all the desperation of someone looking for water in the desert. The tension would always have you in a chokehold, like if you so much as breathed wrongly Allison might just shatter into a thousand tiny pieces._

_In those moments she looked like she was covered in cracks, and that the only thing holding her together was spite and stubborn determination._

_And then every time- every single time- whatever she was searching for wouldn’t be there and her face would fall. Eyes shuttering. She’d turn away as if it hadn’t happened, but her movements would be stiffer, like she was a puppet whose only orders were to survive. Those were the days that Allison would look at you and all you would see was grief, a woman struggling under the weight of a pain too great for one person to shoulder._

_But you couldn’t share it for her, couldn’t try to help because whatever it was, Allison wasn’t ready to share it. You doubted she would ever be. The only time you’d asked she didn’t respond and it was the Bull who had to break the silence, shattering the air with the bluntness he so coveted. You never asked again._

_And yet, in the end- in the very end- you didn’t need to. You’d find out through your own means. You’d know because you were meant to)._

* * *

“It’s my birthday today.”

Allison’s hands stilled on the loom, tensing like a string about to snap, and you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. You shifted in your position so you were half-standing, unsure whether you were trying to step to her or away but feeling like you needed to do something. A moment passed, and then Allison laughed to herself, the sound twisted, like she was in pain. Like she was about to cry, and you could only watch as she laughed her grief away.

_(Because that was what her eyes held every day, what haunted her every movement- unrelenting grief, as though she’d lost her entire world. Because that was how she looked at you)._

“Of course it would be today,” she murmured, the words making something in your gut churn like you’d swallowed hot coals.  You thought she might shatter, right there and then, that her skin would peel away to reveal the wounded skin of her heart, to show the world exactly what it had done for her before vanishing into fire and smoke and ash. But then time seemed to start up again and Allison smiled at you, the warmth to the expression not quite hiding the pain in her eyes, how she looked more like someone at a funeral than in her own home.

She said, “Well, Happy Birthday then.” And then, “How old are you now?”

You bit back the frown, the worry, knowing that you wouldn’t get an answer out of her, that trying to ask would only make it worse: “Twelve years old.”

“Twelve!” She laughed, only slightly watery. ”So you’re an old brat, huh?”

"I'm not a brat!"

"You're a brat to me, kid."

“Then how old are you?”

You regretted the question as soon as it was out of your mouth, clamping your mouth shut in horror as she stare at you, unblinking. A wall went up that you couldn’t hope to climb, the distance growing because you let your mouth get ahead of you, and you fidgeted, frantically trying to figure out how to undo the damage. Your mouth opened to say something- to apologise, to take it back, to turn the conversation onto something else- but no words came out and you let it close uselessly once more.

It felt like hours passed before Allison closed her eyes, huffing out something that may have been a laugh, may have been a sigh, and said, “I don’t know, I stopped counting after it hit two hundred."

You blinked. And then blinked again, surprised at the response for a multitude of reasons all battling for control. The confusion at the content of the words won.

“Two hundred? So… you are a witch?” and then, oh god, “Wait, it’s true then? You really eat children?” Should you be terrified right now, at the prospect of it? Running of screaming in to the sunset because there’s a chance that this woman in front of you could be a cannibal?

_(They always did say to be wary of the pretty ones, and Allison far surpasses pretty, so)._

_That_ proclamation startled a snort out of her, lips twitching into a shadow of a smile as she dismissed, “No, no child stew here. They're too bony, not enough meat."

You breathed out in relief, pressing a hand against your chest, and Allison’s smile seemed to warm further, amusement colouring her dull world. Cocking your head, you asked, “Then how do you still look like _that_ ,” you gestured at her,” if you're so old? Shouldn't you be a fossil or something?"

A snort of, “If only,” followed by, “Nah, It’s just something that runs in the family.” She seemed to hesitate, casting a glance at the hyacinths placed near her loom as though it might hold all the answers, before deciding against whatever it was. She turned back to her weaving, continuing the movements as though she’d never stopped, “Anyway, why are you here if it’s your birthday? Don’t they celebrate it in your village?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then why?”

"Because you're the only one I want to spend it with."

Her hands stilled again, and you realised- with a start- that they were trembling. When you tried to glance up at her expression, her hair was hiding her face, and she pulled her sleeves down to cover her hands from view.

“Oh,” she whispered, tone as unsteady as her hands, and that was all she said for the rest of the night. You sat in shared silence until it was time for you to leave, the air holding something heavier than there had been before. (Not for the first time you wished the Bull would return from wherever they’d gone, for he’d break the atmosphere with some blunt remark or another).

Just before you left- walking alone, this time, because you knew your way by now and it wasn’t safe for Allison to continuously come close to the village- Allison hesitated before placing a hand on your head. You felt your heart twist as she ruffled your hair, and said, “I’m glad you came here,” before the door was closing behind her and she was gone.

That night you returned to the village with a fist of ice squeezing your heart until it felt like all you knew was this strange melancholy, this overwhelming sorrow and longing that mingled together to reek hell on your mind. You felt like you’d faced something important, and yet you could grasp what.

_(Later, when tucked up in bed, hours of sleeplessness finding you memorising the boards that made up the ceiling, you’d realise you had been crying)._

_(You dreamt of sight blurring and a hand clasping yours, someone leaning over you. You couldn’t see their face, and their voice was an indistinct cry that filled you with an overwhelming urge to live)._

* * *

 

Nearly a full week passed before you were able to visit again, the Sister’s having been more frugal in their checks, fuelled by the paranoia that the witch they so feared was more liable to snatch children around that day. When you opened the door, you were greeted by the smell of freshly food from where Allison was standing over the stove, and the sight of a vase of carnations set in the entry way. Allison glanced over at you with a smile when you entered, and she said:

“Sit, this’ll be done in just a sec.”

You obeyed, watching as she ladled the stew into two bowls and set them on the table. She settled into a seat opposite you, and you dug in as soon as it was cool enough to be eaten without burning your tongue off. Once you’d both finished and the bowls had been cleared away, Allison led you into the weaving room. There, instead of going straight to weaving, she grabbed a package from near the loom and passed it to you. You stared as she handed it to you, prodding it curiously, and she clarified:

“For your birthday.”

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

Shrugging, you tore into the paper, it peeling away easily under the barrage of your nails until the contents were bared to the world, and you froze. For there, in your hands, was the most beautiful cloak you’d ever seen. It was done in a rendition of the night sky, constellations carefully sew into the chorus of black and colour, and the material was thick and soft to touch. When you pressed it against your cheek your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the warmth tangible even like that, and you felt like your throat had been clogged shut. You tried to speak but all you got out was a choked, breathy sound, and Allison murmured:

"You mentioned that you liked to look at sky so I thought you might like it."

You ran a reverent hand across the detail- hand sewn, each stitch done as carefully as the last- and your sight blurred for reasons you couldn’t grasp in that moment, so dumbstruck you were. It was only when something cold fell on your hand, dispersing into tiny pinpricks of wetness, that you realised you were crying. You brought a hand to your eyes, frantically trying to rub the tears away, but the more you tried the harder they came. After a moments hesitation, Allison’s arms came around you, holding you against her, the touch so gentle- so warm- that it only made you cry harder. That night was spent with you crying against Allison’s shoulder, a hand combing through your hair and only the steady beat of her heart breaking the silence.

That night, you cried as something inside you screamed without abandon.

That night, you felt a grief you could not understand.

_(When you returned to the orphanage it was with the cloak clutched around your body and your eyes swollen and bloodshot, a chill that not even the warm fabric could melt settled in your chest._

_That night, you dreamt of a tunic sewn with stars, and gold strewn with red camellias surrounding a warm smile)._

* * *

 

You wear the cloak with pride as soon as the winter chill settles in, not thinking for a moment that this would be your undoing. You hadn’t considered that people might wonder how you- an orphan with little money to her name, who’d been left abandoned in a basket with only a lone primrose to prove that there had been someone to leave you there- had come across something that seemed fit for a rich lady? You thought of nothing but that the cloak was warm, and that it seemed silly not to use it.

_(Something that may or may not have had an effect was the fact that, whilst wearing it, you felt like you had part of Allison with you. When you wore that cloak you felt safer than you had in years, and you weren’t about to let go of such a feeling)._

The other children crowed over it, jealous and awestruck in equal measures, asking you where you’d got it without any hidden intent, and so you answered simply:

“It was there when I woke up,” you’d say, and then, if they questioned why, “Maybe it was from my parents for my birthday?”

And the children were easily convinced by this, going away with wonder in their eyes as the murmured about how such a thing might come for them. But the adults? Not so much. They’d been in the job too long, after all, and were well versed in figuring out when there was something strange afoot. So a few days after you’d first turned up with the cloak, you were called in to see the head of the orphanage. She eyed you from the other side of her desk, eyes as stern as the lines set deep into her face, and you fought the urge to fidget. You tried to maintain an air of innocence but with every second that ticked by it felt like the truth swelled inside you, fighting to slip its way through the gaps in your acting.

_(You were only twelve, after all. You couldn’t hold perfectly under a pressure like that)._

“Natalie,” she asked, your name sounding like the crack of an axe against the wooden block, “Where did you get that cloak.” And then, when you opened your mouth to repeat the same story you’d told the children, “I want the truth, not a tall tale.”

You swallowed, feeling sweat forming on your brow.  “It was a gift, ma’am.”

“From who?”

“One of the people who were part of the visit last week. They said I needed it more than they did.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t technically an outright lie, just a twist of the truth. A very generous twist, but still the truth at the heart of it. You just hoped it would pass- God, please let it pass.

_(You were afraid, at that time, and you thought it should probably be surprising that the one you feared was the one supposed to take care of you, whilst you actively sought the company of someone accused of being a witch._

_As it were, you felt like it was only natural- like it was fate, or something)._

For what was probably the most painful minute of your life, the head stared at you without blinking, not even trying to hide her suspiscion. Her scrutiny felt like the ceiling was weighing down on you, trying to push you to fit their little box of how they thought you should live, and you scarcely dared to breathe. But then, eventually, she let out a sigh.

“Very well,” she said, and that was that. You were dismissed, and it took far more effort than you’d ever admit to stop yourself from sprinting out. The moment the door to your bedroom was shut behind you, blocking out any further scrutiny, and you all but collapsed onto your bed, feeling like you’d just faced down a dragon with nothing but a toothpick. You lay there until Nellie and Jeanie came in, trembling, the tension not leaving you as it felt like you’d messed up massively. Not even the cloak could give you any comfort, despite how you clutched at it so.

You’d gotten out of the meeting unscathed, but you didn’t think the Head Sister was going to give up that easily.

_(You felt like everything was going to go wrong again, and it terrified you so deeply that you thought it might kill you)._

* * *

 

It wasn’t. After that ‘encounter,’  as you liked to call it, they placed you under surveillance. It was subtly done, of course- they didn’t outright place a guard dog in front of you and say ‘we’re watching you,’ but there was always one of the Sister’s present in the vicinity of wherever the hell you went (even when you were using the bathroom, which was mildly disturbing). And while this was an impressive display of the Sister’s resourcefulness, it made it rather hard to slip away to visit Allison. There were only brief snatches every now and then, when there was a sudden surge that had the orphanage too busy to have one patrolling by your door at night, and you longed for those precious few moments you could spend with Allison.

_(When you told her this she merely snorted, ruffling your hair._

_“You can do it, kid,” she said, and it felt like you could do anything when she was there)._

So weeks passed like that, with things being relatively fine- sure you missed Allison to the point it was a little ridiculous and life at the orphanage felt so dull without the magic that the woods brought, but you could still see her, no matter how little. No matter how infrequent, and that was better than nothing.

But then everything came crashing down, and you were left with little more than the fraying threads of your dreams. It came because you got careless, one night- hurried out at the first apparent opportunity without giving a second thought to how convenient it was. You didn’t notice anything off until the moment you stepped into the woods and everything felt _wrong._ Where they were normally welcoming, they now seemed to repel you- to scream at you to leave, to go, to stay away. They morphed in their anger, the branches growing sharper, the shadows taller; even the flowers seemed to droop.

_(Like they were destroying themselves in their fervour to protect Allison)._

You shivered even with the cloak clutched around you, forcing yourself to walk the path you knew off by heart- the directions you could follow even blindfolded- only to find that you made no progress, no matter how much time passed. It was like the path was leading you in circles, shifting their positions whenever you blinked so that they could force you to walk somewhere else.

In that moment, you felt like you’d been forced back to the beginning all over again, to when you were just a child spurred on by a dare- the woods didn’t want you there, didn’t want anyone there, and you opened your mouth to ask why-

_(To ask if Allison hated you now)._

-only for a hand to close around your arm, jerking you back roughly. You let out a cry, whipping round to face the culprit, only to find yourself staring up into the frown of Sister Marian. Her eyebrows were drawn tight above her eyes, most likely attempting to emulate anger when all you could see was fear. She was terrified, you knew now, so deeply conditioned by the stories of the witch that she believed them above all else, that they were the very source of her nightmares. And to be here, in the woods, because of a child? That was a nightmare- one of yours.

You felt the ground fall away from beneath you, and your only thought was, ‘I fucked up,’ followed by, ‘I’m not going to be able to see Allison tonight, am I?’ You bit down on your lip as Sister Marian tightened her grip on your arm, demanding:

“Do you understand what you have done? Do you know how dangerous it is our here?!” her voice rose to a shout, two red spots forming on her cheeks as she turned to anger so she couldn’t dwell on the fear. She shook you, sharply, and you felt like you might throw up. “What were you thinking, you stupid child?!”

You lowered your eyes, voice little more than a whisper: The witch wouldn’t hurt me.”

She scoffed, “This isn’t a game, Natalie: it’s real life.” She shook you once more before beginning to drag you back towards the village. “Now come on- I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when the head sister finds out.”

You shuddered, casting your eyes about wildly, searching desperately for some sign of life- some sign that you weren’t alone, something to let Allison know that you weren’t going to be coming that night (or any time soon, most likely).  You were dragged back to the village that night, and it felt like all the warmth had been drained from your life- like you were part of the procession towards your own funeral.

_(For a moment, you thought you saw the shadow of a bull standing towards the trees, but you blink and it’s gone)._

* * *

 

By the time you arrive back at the orphanage, the sun is up in the sky and everyone is gathered outside to watch your shame. The Sister’s eye you with distaste- with the disgust only an adult can hold over a child, of one who’d had their very foundation spat on- whilst the children looked on with awe (you had defied the rules and that- that made you like a martyr to them, something to be respected and pitied in equal measure), but the Head Sister was the only one whose opinion mattered. And she- she looked at you with disappointment, with reproach. She looked at you like she was seeing you for the first time, and your mouth felt dry as it pushed down on you like all the gravity in the world had been focused in on you.

An hour was lost to the Head Sister’s lecture- to her warnings as to why you mustn’t go near the forest (lies, all lies), as to what harm your actions could bring to the village, of how foolish you were- before you were given your punishment. Confinement, she said- you were forbidden from leaving the orphanage until they decided you weren’t a danger.

_(A punishment that cut deeper than they could ever hope to realise)._

You left the office fighting angry tears, frustration boiling a rancid poison in your chest as you thought of going without seeing Allison for that time, of how easily this could have been avoided.

_(The idea of going without Allison- of being left alone- made sharp dig against your ribs, made it feel like there was an old wound being forced open after so many years being ignored)._

_(Jeanie tried to comfort you when she found you, but it was futile. You were inconsolable, and fell asleep that night dreaming of an empty bed and of children crying._

_You’d never been fond of the orphanage, but it wasn’t until that time that you truly began to hate it)._

* * *

 

Time seem to taunt you in the coming days, each second dragging by like a sickle against stone, and the world felt empty. Hollow, like you’d left a part of you in the forest and now nothing could ever make you feel whole once more. You hated every minute of it- were so miserable you could probably fill a well with your pain- but you weren’t given time to idle. They said that if you were busy then you wouldn’t be thinking of sneaking off, so they gave you an endless number of chores and lessons and errands and everything they could think of until you ended the day exhausted and aching. And yet, sleep was hard to come by: every night found you haunted by the lure of the forest, lying there for hours on end until- finally- sleep would drag you under. And then you would dream.

_(The absence made them so much worse- whenever you woke up you’d find yourself struggling to separate what was real and what was not, to remind yourself of the present you were in when the world of the dreams forced its way inside you, stitching itself to your heart and sticking there, like a stain._

_Like a memory)._

Morning would find you restless and distressed, barely able to move as you resigned yourself to repeat the cycle again. It felt like torture to you, despite not being that much different to the life you’d had before Allison, despite how it shouldn’t have changed that much. Now, it felt like a fate worse than death because you’d known that there could be so much more.

_(Because you’d known Allison- seen how the world brightened in her presence- and now anything else was like a prison; a place where you were left to rot day in, day out, with no end in sight._

_Because you’d known the truth in a world founded on lies)._

And it was during these long days of hell that you realised something- that you understood that, at some point, the orphanage had stopped being a home to you. It was just a place where you were expected to sleep, now, the place where you stayed out of necessity rather than desire. Instead, Allison had become your home, your world- every moment not with her was spent longing for a moment to slip away to the little house, to watch her weave, to smell the fresh scent of that day’s flowers, to see Allison. You began to long for Allison, and all that made her her.

At some point, Allison became everything to you.

Allison became your home and sometimes- sometimes- you wondered whether you were bought together by magic, or chance.

_(You’d like to think it was fate)._

* * *

 

_(You dreamt of a bruised face and the rage that consumed you at the sight, the sudden revival of the instinct to reach for your knife and slit the throats of whoever it was harmed her. You dreamt that you would be willing to tear the world apart for her, that all she had to do was ask for you to forsake your vow to never touch a blade again._

_You dreamt that you were growing to love her, and that it felt like the taste of water after years chained in a desert._

_You loved her, and it is the one truth that would never fade away)._

* * *

 

Two months after your confinement- two months without even a glimpse of Allison that wasn’t in your dreams- and you were woken up by the sound of Bull’s voice. You slipped from sleep easily, so loose was the hold it had on you, and when you stumbled to the window it was with the resounding sense that you were hallucinating. But no, the Bull was really there, staring at you with what would probably count for a scowl, and ordered:

“Climb out already, we’ve only got a few hours.”

“What?”

He huffed, muttering something under his breath that sounded vaguely like ‘I’m surrounded by idiots,’ before telling you:

“You are going to climb out of this window and onto my back, and I am taking you to see that woman before I stab someone with my horns.”

“But if they find out I’ve gone-“

“They won’t find out, trust me on that.”

So you complied, numbly, and soon found yourself clinging to the coarse strands of his  fur as he ran through the forest, trees parting for the two of you as he went. You clung there, wondering if this too was a dream, and asked him as much. He simply snorted derisively in what you thought to be a dismissal of your question. So then you asked:

“Why are you doing this?”

And in a rare moment of openness, he said, “Because that woman is so fucking miserable that even the grass is upset.”

You were silent for the rest of the journey, feeling rather dazed by this sudden turn of events and the knowledge that you would see Allison again.

_(That you could once more return home; that she cared for you as much as you did her)._

When you reached the clearing, Allison was waiting for you, standing in the doorway with her arms hugging herself. She seemed tired, like the colour had been drained from her over the past few months, but she was there and she was _real._

_(She was still here, she hadn’t left, she hadn’t been taken- nothing could separate you from eachother. No-one could take her from you)._

You all but fell from the Bull’s back and you were flying at Allison before you even had time to think, and she met you midway, the warmth on her face only glimpsed as you buried your face against her stomach. Your arms squeezed around her, tight enough that it must have hurt but you cared for nothing beyond the fact that she was here and you’d wanted this for so long; that you’d wanted _her_ for so long.

You breathed in, her arms came around you, and you were home.

_(They could try to keep you apart, but they would fail. Not even death could separate you, after all- you were too deeply woven together._

_You were two parts to a whole)._

_(When the Bull returned you to the orphanage, it was with the Sister’s none the wiser and you feeling more alive than you had in a long time. You slept easily, that night, and dreamt of wedding vows and a kiss that could shame even the brightest flame)._

* * *

 

Your confinement continued for months to come, but it was easier to bear with the moments of freedom- the times that Bull would come to sneak you away and you could spend a few priceless hours with Allison and him. He’d come as often as he could, and you were better because of it. Calmer, able to breathe without the air feeling too dry in your lungs and the darkness drowning you during the night. And it showed- you grew more animated, began to laugh and smile again. You began to act more like a normal child of your age, and with it the Sister’s suspicions began to fade. They thought the spell had faded and you were once more their golden child, that you wouldn’t disobey anymore.

_(They thought wrong)._

A year after the placed it, the confinement was removed and your life returned to as it had been before; the surveillance was removed and your workload lightened, able to go out to your hearts content. You were free once more. But confinement had changed something in you- had installed a caution that had once been absent in you, a calculation that emerged like a butterfly from its cocoon. You knew the consequences now, knew what would happen if they ever found out you were visiting Allison, and knew that it could be so much worse.

You had things to lose, now, and it drove this need to protect that had swelled within you- this desperation to make sure no-one ever learned of Allison, of Bull, of the dreams.

_(Of the feeling that maybe- just maybe- this wasn’t the first time you met them. That maybe you were more than just Natalie, the orphan girl who lived near the woods)._

So you learned how to act, how to hide things without anyone even so much as suspecting. You learned how to deceive, how to make people lose track of what they were saying, how to fight. You learnt to be strong, and with time, you were a force to be reckoned with. With the years that passed by, your smiles became masks- things that you could use as a weapon as easily as you could a comfort- your arms with strength to rival any man’s. The years passed and you grew, soon showing the makings of the woman you would become.

 ( _The young woman you had been)._

The villagers were struck by your development, by who you were growing to be. They looked at you and smiled, seeing nothing but the kindness of your actions, the beauty of your smile, and they thought- now that is what a person should aspire to. They looked at you and only saw the surface.

_(They didn’t see how greedy you became, how much you wanted, how much you yearned. They didn’t see how everything in your life felt so right and yet so wrong._

_They didn’t see how you were never fully satisfied because there was always the lingering feeling that you were missing something)._

And Allison- Allison never changed. Never aged, never so much as wavered, and the height difference grew less pronounced. Allison never changed, and yet as you grew her melancholy followed. You grew and _those moments_ became more frequent, those times where she’d look at you as if you were a ghost, a spectre. And you began to wonder if maybe she was. You began to wonder _who am I?_

_(You wondered if you were hurting her more than you helped)._

But you were a selfish person, at the heart of things, and didn’t want to let Allison go. You wanted to stay close to her- to her heart- knowing nothing but the fact that if forever wasn’t something you could have, then you’d be happy to leave her with a mark that could never be erase. So you kept close to her, visiting as often as you could possibly manage, and observed her reactions carefully. Every flinch she made, every double take, every flash of pain felt like a victory- like you were carving your place at her side.

_(You hated yourself, sometimes, for how sick it must make you. For how cruel it was, to probe at wounds that clearly ran deep, and yet nothing felt right. Nothing felt right unless things were like the dreams, and so you accepted them. You took on the dreams, and let yourself evolve._

_You wondered if, maybe, if you became the dreams then Allison would be happy. If then everything would feel right once more)._

* * *

 

The dreams became clearer, with time, and she caught glimpses of herself at times- of hair that was vibrant and short, of bright smiles. The morning came and she looked in the mirror at her dull brown hair that fell lifeless to her elbows and it made her angry. It felt heavy and wrong and she felt sick- she wanted it gone, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her.

The dreams became more detailed with your fifteenth birthday, and your worldview grew. You began to catch glimpses of yourself in them- of hair that was vibrant and short, of bright smiles, of clothes woven by a skilled hand. Those dreams were the worst- the ones where morning would come and you would feel sick, where you would look in the mirror and hate what you saw, want to smash it beneath your fist as if that would change what you see there. You’d look in the mirror at the dull brown hair that fell limply to your elbows, and would feel bitter hatred. It felt heavy and wrong and you tugged at it, tasting blood on your tongue- _you wanted it gone._ It wasn’t right, it wasn’t you, _it wasn’t you._ You wanted it gone.

_(It wasn’t who you felt you should be)._

One morning- in the wake of one of these dreams, in a time where it all just felt too much- you stormed off to the village, money firmly strapped to your belt, not a word uttered to any who passed you by. When you returned later it was with your hair cut to your shoulders, pastel coloured dyes replacing what had once been there. The reactions you received were varied- some of the Sister’s fainted, Nellie beamed and clapped you on the shoulder with murmurs of ‘well aren’t you the rebel’, Bull laughed at you for a full minute before saying ‘typical, just typical’- but Allison was the only one who mattered. Her reaction was the only one you cared about, and it came far more intense that you could ever have imagined.

_(Could ever have hoped)._

The moment she laid eyes on you she dropped the plate she was holding, not noticing as it crashed to the ground and shattered. Her eyes were blown wide, not daring to blink as she approached you like a startled deer, and reached a hand out. It was shaking violently, like she had walked through the river of death and come out with ice in her veins, and when her fingers brushed against the freshly coloured strands it was with the reverence of someone who thought they were dreaming. She held her hand there for a long, lingering moment, staring at you like she was seeing you for the first time in centuries, and then her hand fell to her side.

You grasped her hand in yours, both touch and voice soft as you murmured, “Allison?”

She let out a choked noise that could had been a sob, fingers spasming against yours. And then she crumpled.

_(That was the first time you saw her cry, and it was a time you will forever think of with relief. It was the first time you got to comfort her, when she showed you deeper behind those layers she builds up around her, and it felt like it was the first time she truly let you see her._

_It was the first time you made Allison cry, and it felt like progress. It felt like pain. It felt like you were making steps toward something important, and all you could do was fumble your way through it and pray you were making the right decision)._

* * *

_(You asked her about the flowers once and only once. Her face had shuttered the moment the words left your mouth, eyes going far away like she was plunging into the past; the air darkened to the point that the flowers themselves seemed to wilt under its weight. For a long time the two of you lingered like that in silence, feeling like a wall had been thrown up, until, finally, Allison’s eyes slipped shut._

_She said, “They were the only thing she left behind,” and when you swallowed it tasted like acid on your tongue._

_She went to bed early that night, the weariness settled so deep that she could barely shuffle from the room, and you left with a hand clutching your chest, trying to calm the beat that was echoing the tree’s mournful cries. You never mentioned it again)._

* * *

You were only sixteen when you had your first kiss and it was one of the most disappointing moments of your life so far. It wasn’t that you were wrong about your sexuality- you liked girls, would have to be blind to think otherwise- but when put into practise, it was like the arrow had hit the wrong tree.

It was with Jeanie- sweet, gentle Jeanie, a girl you had known all your life, who was growing to be as beautiful as an eagle in flight- and you’d thought that maybe she could be ‘the one.’ But when she dragged you into an empty room away from any prying eyes, saying that she ‘wanted to find out what all the fuss was about,’ you found reality to be a stark contrast to your expectations. Her lips were chapped against yours, dry where you’d expected soft, and when you met the grey of her eyes you were left with nothing but a sense of wrongness.

You let your eyes slip shut, wondering if that might make a difference, and all you could think of were eyes as green as the forest in the middle of summer and a laugh that could make flowers bloom. You thought of someone else- of something that should be but wasn’t, that had been but not now- and when you opened your eyes, it was to find Jeanie smiling shyly at you and something sour curdling in your gut.

You walked away feeling frustrated, and all you could think of was of Allison and what her smile might feel like against yours.

_(That night your dreams were vivid in a way different than usual, and you woke up flushed and with a pain inside your chest that didn’t fade)._

* * *

 

_(You dreamt of a field dyed in blood, of a knife in your hands as you cut away the ropes binding the young child that would never breathe again; of a boy with hair the colour of cornfields and eyes that were more intense than any you’d ever seen. He watches dispassionately as you wipe away the blood from the child, and says:_

_“Your actions make no difference to it. Why do you act like you can help it still?”_

_You smile at him, undeterred by the scowl that greets you. “Why hello to you too, old friend.”_

_“That’s not an answer.”_

_You close the child’s eyes one final time, letting your touch linger against her cold skin as though you could revive her with any shred of warmth you can offer._

_“Because this way, she’ll know that she wasn’t alone.”_

_“In death?”_

_“In life,” you curled the child’s hands around a flower- a pink carnation- and stood; you were just a bit taller than him, at your full height, even though you were still young. “In death, nothing really matters. In life, you feel every moment of loneliness like a physical pain.”_

_“You fear being alone?” and his voice was contemplative even as his expression never wavered, even as his eyes were still carved from stone._

_You let out a slight laugh, breathless though it may be, and the wind carries it far away from that field filled with the dead, from this next mark of your sins. No doubt in years to come the field would be remarked on for how the crops thrived there, children warned to stay away, only a few knowing of the day cultists killed a child only to find their throats slit by one girl and a knife. You laugh and it’s as hollow as your heart no matter how hard you try to fill it with kindness._

_“More than anything.”_

_That day he gives you a promise to stay by your side until death comes for you, and a name you promise to never tell another soul. It is a promise he will keep both in this life and every one to come._

_That day the boy shifts his form into that of a bull and you are never alone again)._

_(On a day you decide to go to the Bull first, sometime after you’d seen the dream, you tell him:_

_“You know, are you sure you didn’t take the form of a Bull because you wanted to be taller?”_

_And he freezes for just a miniscule moment, glances at you out of the corner of his eye like if he looks hard enough he can tell if he was imagining it, before he lets out a huff._

_“I don’t want to hear that from someone who was in diapers until three days ago.”_

_And when you laugh, you think his face twitches into something that might be a smile)._

* * *

 

Seventeen came and passed in a flash, and with it came marriage proposals. You were of age now, after all, and so every man and woman in the village was vying to grab your hand- less because they loved you and more because they wanted to marry someone and you were one of the more intriguing partners. (At least you weren’t Nellie, whose fire and temper made her the most popular target). Staying in the village became hell from that point- within a week you’d received eight proposals (three male, five not) and you’d suffered through all of them with a smile and a gentle refusal. You hated every second of it, struggling against the desire to run somewhere far, far away and never come back.

 _(The idea of marrying someone who wasn’t- who wasn’t_ her _was just too awful to imagine)._

So you felt it was quite justified- and in no way cowardly- when you began to spend every spare moment hiding at Allison’s. It was the only space you felt safe- the only place you could breathe, where you heart beat normally and you felt that you’d be quite happy dying there- and Allison was the thing that made it so. She didn’t seem to mind you becoming a near-permanent fixture of her home- in fact she seemed to find it amusing, if her constant smile was any indication. She laughed at you when you told her of your struggles, patting you on the head (an action that never failed to make you feel like you could fly), and said:

“It’ll get better in time.”

You’d leaned into the touch and asked- in true foot in mouth style, “Have you been proposed to before?”

Her hand went limp on your head, eyes wide like you’d taken a knife to her throat instead of asking a question, and you scarcely dared to breathe in case the slightest movement may have her shattering. You thought, for a moment, she might just clam up and ignore the question (something that had happened before, that would no doubt happen again), but eventually-

“Yes. Twice,” and her voice was tight, like every word took a great deal of effort to get out, like she was physically pained by saying it. She didn’t seem comfortable with the topic, but she was answering and that was encouragement enough for you to continue prodding.

“Twice?”

She went still, hand going limp where it was, and Natalie held herself like a statue, as though the slightest movement may upset her more. But then Allison’s hand went to fiddle with a ring around her neck (a simple silver thing that Natalie recognised somehow, she wondered where she knew it from) and she said:

“Once because they wanted something I could provide. The second-“ her hand left your head to come and clutch at the ring that hung around her neck (a simple silver thing that you’d seen in your dreams before, a ring that made you feel warm inside). “The second was because of love.”

Your ears were ringing like there was a funeral bell playing inside your mind, your mouth dry from the tension, and yet you continued to push your luck. Your voice was raspy when you spoke, the words dropping like a judge’s hammer:

“What happened to them?”

“The second,” she swallowed, her eyes closing to try and shut the world out, “Died. Years after we’d married.” Her grip on the ring was tight enough that you could clearly see the veins in her hand, yet it was steady in the face of turmoil.

 “And the first?”

You recoiled then, taken aback because Allison’s response was so vicious- so intense- that it felt like you’d crossed a line, like you’d hit upon a still-bleeding wound and spilt acid there. It was pure hatred you saw in her face- anger, pain, and that overwhelming desire to see someone skinned alive and fed to the dogs- a scowl painted so deep you could almost believe it had always been there. Her hand formed a fist now, and she spat with enough vehemence that you wouldn’t be surprised if she was casting a curse:

“I hope he’s dead. He deserves to rot for what he did- he deserves to burn.” And then, quieter, “If he doesn’t, it’s not fair. It’s not right.”

Silence followed that declaration, weighted- the pain lingered like a bad smell, any trace of that companionable ease that had been present before now gone in the face of such raw emotion. Instead of fading as the seconds passed t seemed to fatten, growing larger, pressing down on your like your guilt, like the worries that you’d crossed a line. You wondered if this time, it was too far; if Allison would tell you not to come.

_(You wondered if you’d lost her again)._

But then- God knows how many minutes later- Allison exhaled, letting go of the ring so it could fall back against her chest, and she tried for a smile.

 “So you told the baker’s daughter what exactly?”

You grinned, and leapt into the story with just a tad more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, the silence fading away into little more than a memory.

_(And if you went out of your way to make her laugh that night then, well. Who could blame you?)_

* * *

 

_(You dreamt of wedding bells, of peonies, of smiles so bright they were blinding, of happiness so great it could crush your ribs._

_You dreamt of marrying the love of your life, of a promised forever that never came. You woke up in tears and the next person who proposed to you ended up with a broken nose)._

_(You started to bring Allison flowers, after that, picking the ones that had been present in your dream from the night before. The first time you did it she looked pale, nearly faint, and you thought you’d done something wrong, but she took them. She put them in a vase next to her loom, and you took that as a win._

_With every flower that you bought her shock lessened, and she began to smile when you gave her them. In the space of a year you’d given her every flower under the sun, but you never gave her primroses. Somehow, the idea of touching a primroses made you feel sick)._

* * *

 

It happened when you turned 18. It wasn’t much, at first- just a cough, a slight weakness, lack of appetite; simple things, symptoms people wouldn’t look twice at. And nobody did, at first, especially as only the elderly were affected- they just thought it was the flu. But then came the bleeding, the chills; the people bedridden from shocks and fevers. People began to notice, then- to worry, to fuss over themselves after dear old Janice died during her sleep.

_(When it became a threat to them)._

Then came the spots. The horrible blackening that spread its way across peoples skin like some morbid rash- a flag for death that nourished itself on people’s energy, that thrived as the host weakened. The bodies began to pile up, victim after victim laid to waste by this strange new sickness, and with every person lost the disease spread to someone new. No-one was safe now, not anymore- the sickness didn’t discriminate in its victims; from children to adults, animals to elderly, it took everyone it could reach.

Within a month the village had been whittled down to half its original size, more bodies than they had graves. The village doctor had tried every cure they could to no avail, and no other village was willing to send their own; it seemed like there was no hope. It seemed like all that awaited them was death. The remaining survivors were terrified, the grief pushed aside in favour of the jagged claws of fear that dug so deep into their flesh. And the thing about fear was that it came hand-in-hand with anger.

And with anger came the need for blame. To find someone to push this hatred- these dark feelings that were bubbling over inside of them, just one more loss away from bursting out- onto, to target. To find a scapegoat so that they could regain some feeling of control, of power in a world where all they could do is tremble in the face of an unknown threat. And to this village, that meant a witch- the one who had been a stain on their village’s history for too many years, the one who had bewitched their children and stolen them away.

To them, that meant Allison.

_(The time had come for you to choose, now- to decide who had your loyalty, who would be the one you made your home with. You had to choose between Allison and the village._

_It was a choice that had been years in the making, yet came all too soon)._

* * *

 

Two months after the sickness appeared, a meeting was held. It was late at night, all the adults and elderly gathered in the village square with nothing but their rage and a few torches to act as illumination. If you tried hard enough, then you’d almost be able to ignore how few there were- how this ‘all’ only amounted to sixteen people, including you.

_(You’d never been so glad for them to consider you of age)._

At first, it was little more than the typical mutterings and arguments that ran rampant through the village, the kind of talk you had heard every day since you were an infant: it’s the witches fault, they’d say. It was a curse- a spell cast on them out of a cruel whim. It’s the witch.

_(Because who better to blame than one woman no-one truly knew?)_

Usually these accusations wouldn’t garner a second glance- wouldn’t have you do much more than blink and shake your head incredulously- but now every word, every whisper, ever condemnation that only further buried them in their hatred had you tensing. You felt like a bow string ready to snap, like you were being crushed by the weight of what might come- by the worry that felt like a permanent resident in your heart by now.

_(You felt like the world was burning around you and all you could see was smoke)._

But then someone shouted, “She’s been terrorising us for years, but enough is enough- she needs to go!”

“Down with the witch!

“Yeah, she’ll never take another child from us!”

“She must burn,” and this was Sister Marian, her expression alight with some kind of sick anticipation. You felt heavy inside, like your lungs had turned to lead, like you’d swallowed a rock that was only just reaching its limit- you were standing at a crossroads and all you could hear was white noise, world over taken with the single most important understanding to ever come into your life:

They were going to kill Allison. They were going to kill Allison, for nothing more than their own significance- for no bigger reason than because they were cowards.

_(Allison, whose words were harsh, who was being crushed by something too great for you to know, who welcomed you into her life despite how begrudgingly she did so, who showed you her heart and accepted yours)._

“Tonight?”

 “Tonight.”

_(Allison, who treated you like you were the one thing that mattered more than anything in the world, who showed you a world of magic and vitality, who never once dismissed you)._

“It’s decided. Burn the witch!”

_(Allison, who let you know what it was like to have a home, whose smiles were a sight you wanted to watch for a hundred years, who lived both in your dreams and the real world)._

The villagers had forgotten you were there by now, so wrapped up in their plans they were- in their discussion of how best to go about this, of burning down the entire forest, of dragging Allison out by her ankles and tying her to a pyre. Looking at them now and you could scarcely imagine why you once felt so conflicted about having to pick a path- why you once felt like these people meant something to you. And maybe they had, once, but not now; they couldn’t hope to compare to Allison. Now, this village held nothing for you.

_(Allison, the woman who had become everything to you)._

Nobody noticed when you slipped away into the shadows, the threads of fate grasped firmly in your hands.

_(In the end, there wasn’t really a choice to make. When you tried to imagine a life without Allison, you found that it wasn’t one worth living. You found that you couldn’t let her go._

_You had made your choice. And you wouldn’t lose her to anything, not again- not even the Gods themselves, not this time)._

_(Never again, you’d promised all those years ago, in a time before you became Natalie. Never again._

_It was a promise you would keep)._

* * *

It only takes you five minutes to grab the scant few things you want to keep from the orphanage, and yet even that is too long. Every second you waste is one punctuated by the sound of your heart racing, by the fear of what if, what if, what if. By the time you were finally rushing through the forest, the voices of the villagers were too loud- too close- and you could feel the weight of the time limit like a noose around your neck. You ran, the trees spurring you on as they swayed in the wind, the grass sharpening under every step like it intended to face off against the threat itself.

_ (Like they could do anything against hellfire in the hands of mortals). _

And yet, it wasn’t enough: no matter how fast you ran you were still too slow, too slow, and with every step they were gaining on you. Already you could hear the clang of metal in the distance, see the glare of flames out of the corner of your eye. You needed to go faster- you knew that, and yet every step was still one too far away; you were still no closer to reaching her than you had been before.

_ (You were still as useless as you had been in the dreams). _

And then- as if in answer to your prayers- the Bull appeared in front of you. He said no words, merely gestured with his head, and you didn’t hesitate to vault yourself onto his back. Clutching at his fur, you murmured-

“Allison.”

-and that was all the encouragement he needed. He seemed to fly through the woods, the trees around you blurring in his haste, the wind slapping against your face like the cruel palm of reality. Had it been under different circumstances, the two of you would have been talking throughout this run, exchanging banter as you admired the scenery, revelling in the freedom that came from such speed. Had it been under different circumstances, this ride would have been one of pleasure. But now all you could do was hope that you weren’t too late.

_ (You hoped that you would be able to help her as she had you). _

You were jumping down before he had fully drawn to a halt, hurrying to the door of the hut just as it opened to reveal Allison- as real and alive as the day you’d first met, her expression drawn with concern at the sight of your face. You didn’t give her a chance to get the words out before you were throwing your arms around her, the words tumbling out in such a rush that it was a miracle you were able to breathe:

“We have to leave- now.”

Allison placed gentle hands on your shoulders and pushed you so that she could see your face, studying you with something you couldn’t decipher (was it grief? Or disbelief?). Her voice was careful, unreadable as she repeated, “Leave?”

“The villagers- a mob. They plan to burn the woods.”

The ‘and kill you’ went unsaid, but Allison caught it anyway, if the way her eyes darkened and her hands tightened where they were on your shoulders was any indication. She glanced at the house behind her and then at the gravestones lined up nearby,  looking for all the world(?) like she might just say no, that she’d rather die here than leave it all behind, but then she closed her eyes. When she opened them there was something carved from steel in her eyes, and she said:

“I’ll just be a moment.”

And then she was gone. You waited for ten minutes, during which you had barely let go of the knife at your waist, eyes never leaving the fire line (which was still, quite thankfully, in the distance) as if you might be able to fend them off with just that. When Allison returned there was a bag slung over each shoulder, her hair braided away from her face, and she held her spine like even the weight of the sky wouldn’t make her kneel.

“Let’s go then,” she said, eyes trained on you as if it was the only thing keeping her steady, and you weren’t sure if you felt your heart cracking or if it was being sewn back together.

“Together,” you said, helping her up onto the back of the Bull, squeezing her hand in yours before moving so you could climb up yourself.

“Together.” You couldn’t see her face, but her arms were tight around your waist, her forehead resting against your back, and you knew this: even if the entire universe rejected her, she was not alone. She would never be alone again, because you were by her side.

You were by her side and that was how it would remain forever.

The Bull ran, and behind you the place that had once been a home was consumed by flames. The three of you fled into the night, never to return to that place again. You ran and never looked back.

_ (Once again you’d escaped what had wanted to destroy you- to rip her away from you, to spit on everything you’d held dear, to ruin what they had no right to touch. Once again, you were safe in each other’s arms, only you and her and the Bull against the world. Once again, you ran to escape what would deny you what was yours. _

_ Only this time, you would triumph. This time, there was no way for those who sought to harm you to give chase. _

_ This time, the two of you were safe, and that was how it would stay). _

* * *

 

_(The sun was working its way up into the sky like a yawn when the Bull finally drew to a stop, hours of endless running between you and the village that had once been your entire world. He settles down onto the ground and says, with the finality of an axe against wood:_

_“If you think I’m moving before I’ve had at least an hours rest then you’re more stupid than I give you credit for.”_

_Allison lets out something that could almost be considered a laugh and climbs off, you following her lead after only a moment’s hesitation. The two of you sit on the ground just far enough from the Bull that he could have some privacy, making sure to face away from the direction you’d came. Allison sighs and for a moment you think she might cry- think she might be mourning what she’d lost, realising just now that she’d never return there- but instead she leans her head against your shoulder. She murmurs:_

_“I’m a hundred years too old to be pulling another grand escape like that off.”_

_Your heart begins to race like the beat of hooves against the grass, and you try to hide it with a laugh, with saying:_

_“Where do you want to go?”_

_And she doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”_

_And in that moment, you felt like your heart might burst._

_You loved her so much you didn’t know what to do with it)._

* * *

 

For two years, you wander the world together- you, Allison and the Bull. The three of you don’t so much explore as you do drift, seeing where you’ll end up next, taking in every sight you come across like it’s the holy grail. You go from tiny villages so deep in their believes of the other world that every door is plastered with a recollection of one of the Gods, to places that couldn’t be called anything other than cities- that welcome every sort of person you’ll come across like they are one of their own, that are so bustling and alive that you can’t do anything but get swept up in the pace of it.

_(You find you enjoy those places: the ones where you and Allison will dance in the streets as music fills the air, the ones where she laughs so hard that she can’t do anything but rest her head against your shoulder and shake, the ones where you feel like you are living in a beautiful dream that you never want to end._

_You enjoy those places because they are the ones where Allison seems the brightest)._

And in those years you feel like you learn more about Allison than you ever did in the woods. It’s like, out here, she’s opened up to you- like all the barriers have fallen away until she lets herself breathe, until she looks at you without the weight of three gravestones on her back. You feel like she’s finally letting you into her life now, properly- no longer shadowed by the image of what you might have been once.

_(You feel like she’s letting herself fall in love again)._

And with it, you learn more about yourself. The dreams are less frequent now, but the ones that do come have you waking up with sweat on your skin and memories clinging to your eyelids; you wake up and you feel just that little bit more whole. It helps, you think, that Allison is always there when you wake up- a solid proof that whatever happened in the past to separate you, it was only in the past. A reminder that you weren’t alone.

_(You’d never be alone again)._

For two years you travel until, finally, it grows tiresome. You travel until you feel like you can travel no more. So when the two of you come across an empty house in the mountains- one just far enough from any villages that there would be no chance of another witch fiasco- there is an unspoken agreement that finds you settling there. You settle there, the desire to wander long since dwindled, nothing inside you but the desire to carve a place for the three of you into this world, in this mountain so far away from anything awful.

So together you make a home. Renovating it into something liveable takes the better part of a year with only the two of you, but every second of it was worth more than solid gold. The work leaves a pleasant ache in your muscles- something that feels nostalgic and welcomed all the more so- and you fall asleep to Allison at your side and the Bull at your back.

_(The floors may have been hard beneath you, only a blanket between you and the world, but you think it was the most comfortable you’ve ever been)._

Allison helps you with the worst of it and when she’s not, she goes into one of the nearby villages with Bull to haggle for what you need (animals, seeds, wood, cloth, everything and anything you could name), returning with a smile and a story to share. You fashioned a loom from spare wood (something Allison kissed your cheek for, something that made her smile so bright you thought you might be burnt) and Allison used it to make the house more welcoming- she weaved curtains and blankets, rugs and cushions, layer upon layer of colour to fill this little slice of the world you’d called your own.

_(You started sleeping on an actual bed once again, but the two of you never seemed to separate. It was still always you and her, wrapped around each other, only this time the surface was soft against you; this time, there was no Bull at your back._

_Now it was just you and her, and it felt like that was how it was supposed to be. You felt like this was how you and her belonged)._

Gardens were planted all around the house: seeds spread across the fields so that eventually there’d an endless carpet of flowers, things that you and Allison had chosen together; another one set up for the more edible crops such as cabbages and potatoes and leeks. Eventually it would grow into something like a little forest for just the two of you, something filled with life and beauty to thrive with your tender care. A pen was set up for the animals to be kept (not including the Bull, of course, he would have probably impaled you if you’d so much as tried), and slowly the number of residents in your little family grew.

Slowly, bit by bit, a home took shape, and it was one made for you and Allison.

_(And this one was forever; this was a home no-one could try and take from you)._

* * *

 

The two of you grew closer as the years passed, drifting towards each other until it was almost- _almost-_ like there’d never been any distance in the first place, like the two of you were two halves of the same soul; like you had been born to find her. It was an existence that was so close to perfect, a life that was so very near unblemished. The two of you fit together like that was how you belonged.

_(You loved her and she loved you and that- that was enough. It was almost enough)._

And yet, there was still a crack in everything- this one flaw that neither of you could overlook, and it originated in your head. In your mind, in the memories that you lacked- you were almost a complete painting, now, but you were still missing one finishing detail. You were still missing one fundamental part of you before you could feel complete.

And you didn’t find it until your twenty-fifth birthday.

* * *

_(You dreamt, and in it you felt like you were drowning, drowning, drowning. It was a nightmare both familiar and not- one that you had lived, and one that you now must live again; it was a nightmare and it was your reality._

_It was a nightmare and she was gone. Stolen, plucked from this world like a stem of grass and all that had been binding her was the thing, fragile grip of her own two feet. They’d took her and with it, your heart.  Asha and Deene were frantic on the edge of your awareness, crying and confused and lost because they didn’t understand, but you didn’t hear them. You didn’t notice anything beyond the ache in your throat and the sound of scream shattering the air around. Your scream._

_You waited for a thirteen- thirteen long days where you had to cope without your light, your love, your joy- out of hope that she would return. Asha and Deene and Bull were at your side throughout it, a steady companion, and you think it was only their presence that kept you from being inconsolable- only them that stopped you from a rampage not unlike those of your old days before you learned of hope._

_Until you learned that you could love someone with all the intensity of the sun._

_But she didn’t return, and the time for waiting was over. She wouldn’t return to you just from you sitting tight, and quite frankly you felt like if you so much as tried to wait you might rip your own arm off. So you would search for her- you would bring her back yourself, even if it meant you had to find out how to enter the realm of the Gods; even if it meant you had to do the impossible._

_Bull said nothing about it when you told him, merely tossed his head in a ‘stupid as per usual,’ but his lack of complaint was as good as an agreement from him. Asha and Deene reacted less enthusiastically when you told them you couldn’t take them with you- and by less enthusiastically it means they all but shook you by the arms in an attempt to make you see sense. They weren’t happy, so you sighed and agreed to take them with you. And maybe that made you a bad parent, but you were reluctant to leave them behind anyway- you’d already lost Allison, you weren’t willing for your kids to add to that count._

_So the three of you ventured into the world in search of Allison and the way to her. For years you scoured the globe, just the three of you and the Bull, ticking off every possible idea and option you had. Years, and yet none of them bought anything close to success. Years of searching- of hoping, of praying, of so much longing you could be sick- and you had to return._

_You had to go back home. You were too old, now, the passage of time a very real threat, and had to know when to accept when something was futile. Once again, all you could do was wait- and wait you did. You continued to raise Asha and Deene even though they were now down a parent, even though there wasn’t much raising to do. They weren’t children anymore, no more than you were the same girl who had first met Allison on a river bank all those years ago._

_Asha had grown into a fine young woman, tall enough that she had to tilt her head down to look you in the eye. She told you, one day, when she revealed that she wanted to become a doctor:_

_“I want to help people, Mom. I want to make my mark saving lives like you saved ours so when Mama comes back she can look at me with pride.”_

_You’d cried, draping her in an embrace as you found yourself overcome by how much she’d grown in what felt like a matter of days. She’d once been a young child who’d lost the only other woman she’d called a parent, and yet it only made her stronger. She never stopped believing- never stopped thinking of what she could do in the here and now- and you wondered what you’d done to deserve a child like her._

_You think, if only Allison was here to see it._

_And Deene- well, he struggled. He’d been so close to Allison- looked up to her as the one he wanted to be like, as the one who was both his sun and his stars- and now she was gone, it was like he didn’t know what to do. The light had been pulled out from beneath him and he was set adrift in a world that was both strange and unwelcoming. You tried so hard to help him- to give him enough love for two- but you couldn’t fill that void in his life, not fully. You couldn’t give him what he’d lost. He stopped weaving where it had once taken up every free moment of his life, taking to wandering around the house like he didn’t know what to do._

_Throughout it all, the loom became that one object no-one touched. You all avoided it for the most part, because looking at it was like facing the ghost of Allison, finding yourself reminded of how she should have been there, laughing as she worked on her newest creation, the children clambering to her side whilst you draped yourself across her back, everyone enraptured by the magic she worked with her hands. The only time anyone approached it was when Deene would go to clean and repair it, ensuring that it remained in perfect condition. You asked him about and all he said was:_

_“The loom is much as a part of Mama as her soul is, and that means I’ve got to take care of it for her. I’ve got to keep it as good as new so that it’s ready for when she returns and we can weave together again.”_

_Once again you cry, faced by the sight of how beautifully your child had grown in the absence of your wife, of their mother._

_And yet, you had to believe in her. They remained steadfast on the idea that she would return, so you must too. You had to believe because it was all you could do for her._

_Years pass, with or without Allison. Asha gets a job with the doctor of the closest village, moving to live there with your blessing and the promise to visit as often as she could. Deene helps you with the house and the garden, content to do whatever job comes his way, whilst you move about with the motions, working hard to ensure that the house was still strong when Allison returned.  You stop visiting the village because every time you did you’d always receive questions from a concerned villager asking you where your wife was, and Deene took over that part for you. And the flowers- you never stopped growing them, that one link you have with her, even go so far as to make Deene promise to take care of them when you can no longer do it yourself. The flower garden thrives ready to welcome her back, primroses bright in the centre of it all._

_The flower you never got to give her, the one you swear to before you die._

_And through it all, you continue to age without any sign of her returning. You grow older and frailer with every year that passes, and soon you begin to feel that she wouldn’t recognise you when she did (because she would, she had to). You were fading fast and fear had become an emotion that you were familiar with; you worried that you would be dead long before she came back. And even more than that, you worried over what would happen if she did return to find her wife decrepit, long past the expiry date, whilst her children were already approaching the later years of their lives?_

_You hoped that Allison didn’t return just to witness your death; you wouldn’t want such a burned to be placed upon her._

_And then Asha- sweet, beautiful Asha who’d risen to be the village doctor, who’d worked her way into the hearts of everyone who lived there, who’d found a wife of her own- died, and everything fell apart. She’d always been a kind child, one who was determined to finish something once she’d started it, and it only worked against her when a pandemic hit. She refused to leave the village, wanting to help as many as she could; she died within the first three months. She died and with it, she took a part of you._

_It was too much, for you- you’d already lost your wife but now your family had been cut down once again. The grief, the heartbreak, the **pain** took its toll on your health, and the countdown had begun. At first was small- things that were harmless enough on their own but could do a lot of harm when all combined, especially with someone as old as you- just dizzy spells, moments where your sight blurred and all you could see was a mess of colour and lines that didn’t quite **fit** , a pain in your lungs that didn’t ease even when you’d cough hard enough that you would be surprised to see a kidney in your hand. Small and harmless._

_Because that was how these things started, wasn’t it? Little things that all add up to make one giant disaster for you._

_And then, one day, your legs stopped working- you’d tried to stand only to find yourself unable to move the lower part of your body, a numbness that would almost be comforting if it wasn’t for the message that came with it; if it wasn’t for the fact that you knew death wouldn’t be far behind. The days passed with you lying there in bed, the numbness seeping through your body until you could barely move- heck, on some days you could barely even breathe and it was only Deene’s careful attention that stopped you from suffocating quietly._

_Nearly four years after Asha died, Bull left you as well. He just up and vanished one night, no-one any the wiser until Deene went out to find him and came back without hide nor hair of him. He left without saying goodbye and had you been capable of it, you would have laughed; it was so very **him**. The promise had been fulfilled- you had never been alone whilst you were alive and now you were dying, he wouldn’t be there to witness it._

_He’d said it all those years ago, that he wouldn’t watch you die._

_Your family was down to two and soon, even you would be gone. And so you passed the days in a haze of incomprehension, the numbness spread throughout most of your body by now, what little movement you could manage being so weak it was barely even there. Deene would spend as much time as he could by your bedside, cutting a fresh primrose to give you each day in hopes that the flower would give you some comfort, some meagre reminder of the woman you loved fiercely enough to defy the Gods; but other than that, the only thing you had was your memories. You revisited the fond ones, the painful ones, reliving every single memory you had of Allison over and over in your mind until you felt like you could almost reach out and touch her._

_But then, on that final, miraculous day, Deene walked in with a woman at his side. You could barely bring yourself to hope- to believe that it was really her at last. Was it a hallucination once again, one to welcome you into death with this one act of mercy? A dream? You don’t think you could’ve handled it if it wasn’t truly her, if your mind was just taunting you with the one you wanted to see more than life itself._

_Oh, how cruel Fate could be._

_Then she cried, “Renee,” her face coming close enough to you that you could make out the base details of it, and God-_ God _. It was really her. She’d come back- she’d returned to you at last and oh how you’d longed to hear her voice. Her hand was in hers and she was standing here- here, in your home, in the place you should have spent the rest of your lives, the place they’d stolen her from; you were weak, yes, little more than a skeleton, but none of that mattered with her here. This was probably the happiest day of your life._

_Because at least you’d got to see her in the end- you didn’t want to die without her in your life, even if it’s only for a moment._

_And that was how you knew it was your last. Already your lungs were convulsing, your hold in this world slipping faster than either of you could cry, and you clutched her with what little strength you had left. You choked out everything you felt- all the words you’d wanted to tell her that you could manage, forcing everything through whilst you could so that you didn’t leave her with any loose threads. You said everything you could and yet it all felt inadequate, it tasted like blood on your tongue and God, you were drowning, you were choking-_

_You thought, I wish I could have a second chance at the life I missed with her._

_You thought, I want to see her again._

_You thought, please._

_-and then you knew nothing more)._

* * *

You woke up with sweat on your face, a name caught in your throat (your name, your real name), and- for the first in two hundred and eighty years- you felt whole. Complete, like all the missing pieces of the puzzle that was your soul had been put together and finally you could look at the world through clear eyes.

_(You’d had ideas- a vague understanding that you’d worked out from the dreams, but it had been abstract; it hadn’t felt right. It hadn’t felt like you because you weren’t a whole person yet- like you were a mishmash of two different lives, two different minds, two different people. Like your soul didn’t quite fit right, so twisted by death and its undoing._

_First there had been Renee. Then there was Natalie. Now there was Natalie-and-Renee, Renee-and-Natalie; they were both you and you were both of them._

_In the end, there was- and only would be- you. And all you had needed was a name)._

The bed was empty where Allison should have been and your body was moving even before you truly understood what you were doing- before you had an idea of what was going on. Her absence was like a wound left unbound for too long, the scars opened up by a rusty knife, and you ran with thirty years’ worth of emotions fuelling you.

_(Thirty years worth of longing and hoping and wanting; of loneliness and that hollow ache that ran right into your very bones until every movement felt like you were being jerked about in a jar of needles._

_Thirty years without her only to not recognise her when you finally found her again)._

You found her in the flower garden. She was sitting among them, her hand brushing against the hyacinths with a melancholic air clinging to her every pore in a way that finally- _finally_ \- made sense (the first flowers you gave her, the ones that started it all). She looked, in that moment, like she was withdrawn into her own little world, so deep in the memories of a time long past that you wouldn’t be able to reach her, but then she looked up. Her eyes caught yours and her mouth parted slightly in what might have been surprise but shifted to concern so quickly that even blinking would have rendered it unnoticeable.

She asked, “What’s wrong?” and it was only then that you realised you were crying. She rose from where she was sitting so that she could brush the wetness on your cheek with her thumb, touch so gentle that it felt like the brush of an angels feather,  tears only increasing because of her efforts. You blinked rapidly, opening your mouth to try and speak- to say the words you needed to- but all that came out was a weak, aborted noise, and you threw your arms around her.

She yelped as the two of you went tumbling into the bed of flowers, your weight knocking her off balance, but you didn’t even register the impact as you buried your face in her neck, breathing in her scent and thinking, _this is real. She is real. I am alive again and she is with me and nothing is the same but it is perfect and oh fuck, she is here._

You thought, _two hundred and eighty years and yet I still love her as much as I did on the day we married._

_(You’d been given another chance with her and God, you wouldn’t waste it. Nothing would take her from you again, not after all this. Death could go fuck itself._

_You wouldn’t let her go)._

“Natalie?” and her voice rang hesitant in the air, confusion dripping from every syllable even as she didn’t try to push you away, as a hand came to cradle the back of your head. You breathed.

“Thirty years,” you said, and you felt her body stiffen beneath you, the sharp intake of her breath rustling your hair, “For thirty years all I could think of was you and then when you finally returned I died and left you alone for hundreds.”

Silence, broken only by the sound of your heartbeats beating in tandem against your ribs as though they might be able to burst free and stitch themselves together, to burrow somewhere so they would never be separated again. And then, little more than a whisper-

“…Renee?”

Your breathed, shaky, “ _Yes_ ,” and her trembling hands coming to clutch at your back. The flowers being crushed beneath both of you were forgotten, the world falling away as the two of you lay there; in that moment it was as if everything had rearranged itself to fit around you and her, to make it so this embrace was the only thing that mattered in the world, so that you could devote yourself entirely to the warmth of Allison in your arms and the thoughts of the future you had together.

_(The future that had been stolen once before, taken wrongfully from the two of you)._

“You’re back,” it sounded like a prayer, like she could barely believe the words- like the combined emotion weighing down on both of you might just be a thought; transient. A wish come true for this brief, wonderful instant because someone had hoped so fervently for it. And then again and again, she said it until it was punctuated by wobbly, delighted laughter, her face pressed against your hair so you could feel the growing dampness there.

“I’m back.”

You shut your eye’s, pressing closer to her as if by thinking hard enough about it the two of you might merge into one being. You didn’t, but she tightened her grip on you and that was better. That was perfection- an embrace of solid, real warmth, her in your arms whilst you could be safe in the knowledge that was how it would stay. This was real; this was yours.

“I thought I’d lost you forever.”

So you said, “I’ll always be by your side. _Always_.”

A promise, a vow, a certainty. There was no other option for either of you, nothing else you would accept- your only future was with her. A life without Allison was not one you wanted.

(You’d already had too much of that, and so had she. You already knew far too well what it was like to be alone, and now was the time for you to carve your place in the world.

Now was the time for a life with the woman you loved, and it was one that was vastly overdue).

And the two of you lay there, surrounded by the flowers grown in memorial of a time where you’d exchanged gifts in those brief, snatched meetings on the river bank. You lay there, clutching at each other with all the desperation of those who’d seen the one they loved vanish right before their eyes, who wouldn’t survive it happening again. You lay there, in front of the home you’d made for yourself, with Bull in the background somewhere rolling his eyes even as he lips twitched slightly, filled with the knowledge you’d been missing for so long.

You lay there, with Allison in your arms, and everything was right in the world once more.

_(Everything was different than it had been before- a different house, a different time, centuries separating the two of you- and yet, none of it mattered. None of it mattered because as long as Allison was with you- as long as you were with the person you loved- everything would be alright._

_As long as you had Allison, your life was perfect)._

 

 

_(Yours was a love that was stronger death itself, that had defied all the rules laid so carefully out._

_Yours was a love like no-one had ever seen and this time- this time- nothing could keep you apart._

_Yours was the love of a Goddess and a Human, and the home they made together)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!


	3. Send us to Perfect Places.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue: occurs one hundred and twenty years after the end of part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end! This story was without a doubt the largest project I have ever actually finished and published, and I am very happy with it. I hope you enjoyed every second as much as I did (when I wasn't ready to punch my computer or scream) and once again thank you to the people who helped me.

On a certain mountain, amongst the many villages that make it their home, rumours are the favoured form of currency. They are exchanged every day, varying in value from the old lady who was thought to be a runaway queen to the couple that routinely switch peoples chickens about in order to laugh at the chaos- every rumour you can think of, it’s discussed right there. But the most popular one is one that spans back hundreds of years, one that continues to thrive no matter the generation, no matter the society; a rumour whose roots are so twisted and spread so deep that it’s past being gossip and entered the territory of ‘myth.’ It goes like this:

There are a couple who live at the top of the mountain- much farther than any can reach, out of the way of any other people. They’ll venture into the villages sporadically- the specifics about which village they go to depending on the day, the weather and their moods- always with a strange looking bull at their side, always with a sense of untouchability about them. And this couple- these two women who might as well have stepped out of a romance novel if the way they practically exuded Happy Ever After was any indication- seemed to have always been there. No-one could remember a time without their distant presence niggling on the edge of their minds- not even the oldest person alive (a woman who was celebrating her one hundred and second year of life with a propensity to shout at chickens and give people sticks). To the residents of this mountain, the women had always just been _there_ , even on the rare occasions where they would disappear for years and the mountain would seem to pine for them, retreating into a state of constant grey skies and poor crops until the day they finally reappeared.

_(It was almost like they were a part of the mountain, in some mysterious way. That for as long as the mountain was there, they would be too._

_To the residents of the mountain, they were a part of their lives that they took for granted and yet simultaneously the closest thing to fantasy they had)._

And when they did visit one of the villages dotted about the mountain, everyone clambered to catch a glimpse of them- practically fell over themselves in hopes of talking to them. Because one of the many strange facts about this couple was that anyone who spoke to them found their lives taking a turn for the better. The grocer, for example, found their husband returning from the war alive and with rewards enough to make them rich when they’d been told he was dead, all after; a poor woman struck sudden wealth when her baking caught the fancy of royalty; a dying doctor found the cure for their own disease and went on to become something of a miracle healer. Whoever interacted with them was graced by good fortune and that alone would have been enough to mark them as peculiar.

But on top of that, they were beautiful- too beautiful, it was whispered, to be human. There was this air about them, a sort of divinity that made them seem like creatures carved from the bone of a nymph with ambrosia for their blood; there was an air of otherworldliness to them and their strange bull. It was said that they’d never aged a day; that they were forever frozen in that one point in time and would continue to flourish even when the world itself is wilting under the weight of its age.

_(It was said that they had found the secret to immortality)._

And yet, when it came down to the reasons why- the theories trying to explain this strange phenomena that lived at the top of the mountain, the solid conclusions drawn from abstract understandings- no two people had the same ideas. No two people agreed on what made the couple special.

_(Because how could mere humans understand them?)_

Some argued that they were mountain spirits, creatures born to protect the mountain and carry out its will. Others thought they were the ghosts of a married couple who had to help a hundred people before they could pass on. Some claimed demons- parasites who were sucking the life from the mountain with every passing day, luring the villages into false security so that they could destroy them when their guards were down. Others divines, the beings from the sky- said that they had been cast down because of a tumultuous affair. Rumour after rumour, theory after theory, thought after thought; it all spread, the truth growing more distant with every uttered word.

But regardless of the rumours, there was one thing that was acknowledged by all who lived on that mountain and that was this: whatever the two women were, they were not human. And because of this, under absolutely no circumstances was anyone to try and approach their territory or follow the two, for fear of causing offence. The two weren’t causing anyone harm and that was reason enough to leave them be- let sleeping lions lie, and all that. So for years the only interactions anyone had with the two was on their village visits, the little talks that were treasured with all the delight as if they’d been graced by the God of Abundance himself. For years, the two were untroubled by any unwelcome visitors encroaching on their home, and lived in peace.

Until one day, two children dared to do the unthinkable. They were orphans- siblings, whose only attachment in the world was with each other; who had no idea what a home was. And they were drawn to the mysterious couple, struck with something that was deeper than just simple curiosity, and they would spend every day hoping to catch a glimpse of them. This feeling- the magnetic need that haunted their minds, their dreams- only grew stronger with every whisper, every glance. It grew and grew until they couldn’t take it anymore, the waiting; until they finally decided to take matters into their own hands.

So they climbed the mountain with nothing more than the clothes on their back, a few supplies they’d managed to scrounge up, and each other. They climbed tirelessly, traveling like they were more than just a pair of desperate children, and had it been a different mountain- had it been different children- then they would have likely died. But it wasn’t, and this pair was protected by something. These siblings were blessed by some strange power out there, and so they reached their goal unharmed.

And what a sight it was: endless fields of flowers stretched out for miles on end, surrounding the house like it was the center of a painting, shades of reds and pinks and yellows mixing with the blue of the sky and the green of the grass until it felt like you could just lie down and let yourself drown in every colour imaginable. Trees were dotted here and there, acting as shields against the outside world; watchtowers, guarding them from harm the same way a dog would.

The house itself was a simple wooden thing that sat in the centre of it all, nothing particularly magic about it, and yet it seemed to exude comfort. It welcomed them, beckoned them closer like the lure of a warm bed in the middle of winter, a good dream when surrounded by death and violence. It shouldn’t have been special and yet, it was.

_(Like something blessed by the Gods)._

Animals roamed free across the land, never straying too far from the house despite the lack of a fence to tether them there. There were shelters built for them nearby, all well-tended with food and water, but they remained empty for the most part. Near the porch lounged a solitary bull, around whom the air seemed to crackle, as though it was graced with magic that could be detected by even the mortal eye; it was the creature that always accompanied the two women to the village. Around them, chickens mingled with sheep, pigs with cows, a pair of horses raced around with a dog; a constant source of noise, of life- a family in every shape and form.

_(A family that was still incomplete)._

The two children took another step closer to the house and the Bull’s eyes snapped open to fix on them. They froze, like deer in the face of a shotgun, and the creature rose to its full height, those eyes towering over them. They didn’t dare move from where they’d frozen, huddled close as if it might give them protection against any harm, the younger sibling clutching at his sister’s sleeve like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. The Bull let out a huff, and the children thought, this is where we die.

And then the creature turned its head and shouted, “Oi, you’ve got guests!”

The two children stumbled in surprise, both at what the Bull had said and the fact that it had spoken at all, but it just returned to the nap that it had been rudely roused from without a second glance at them. They stared at it, unsure whether to be terrified or awestruck and thereby settling on something between the two, but then the sound footsteps shattered them from their revere. They pressed closer, the younger one hissing:

“This was a bad idea, Asha; we should go before it gets us killed.”

The older child –Asha, as she had been so called- simply scoffed even as her shoulders squared and she grabbed his hand tightly, like she would drag him out of there the moment they encountered something hinting at danger. “Don’t be stupid, Deene.”

“But-“

“Do you want to know the truth or not?”

“…I do.”

“So there.”

“But not at the cost of our lives.”

“Well, we’re already here and if some of the rumours are true, that’s enough for us to be mincemeat either way.”

Deene sighed in the way of someone who hadn’t expected any different but had tried in case of the off chance that the other person decided to be reasonable for once in their life.  “Fine, but it’s your fault if we end up dead. Or worse: eaten.”

“They’re not going to eat us.”

“And what makes you sure of that? For all we know they could be-“ but what he was going to say is something no-one will ever know, as at that moment the door to the  house opened. The world fell silent as the two women stepped out of the house, like everything had stopped to bow its head in respect, and the two siblings forgot any notions of fear or determination in favour of pure, unadultered _awe_.

The rumours couldn’t quite match up to how the women looked in real life, to just how ethereal they appeared when standing in what was their territory. One of them seemed like she’d stepped right out of a fairytale, with hair falling down her back in golden waves, a crown of flowers upon her brow; she was like a princess, a queen of this strange new land the children had stepped into, and her beauty was enough to steal their breath away. The other seemed so much more human and yet- at the same time- not. Her hair was as colourful as it was practical, bright and warm in the same way as her eyes, and yet there was a knife strapped to her belt, a sharpness beneath that softness; she looked like the warmth of a candle, something that could just as easily burn you as it could help light the world. Their hands were clasped between them, a casual intimacy that spoke of years of companionship, bodies drifting towards each other like they couldn’t bear to be separated. It was the kind of casual intimacy that spoke of a long companionship, that spoke of an affection so deep that you couldn’t hope to brush on it all in single lifetime.

_(They looked like a princess and her knight, like a couple you read in stories. They looked familiar and yet not._

_They looked like magic)._

But it was their expressions that seemed the most out of place- the wide, shocked eyes as though they were staring at a ghost, the hand that the knight pressed against her mouth, the way the princess’ lips seemed to quiver. Both of them were looking straight at Asha and Deene like they were afraid to look away, and something in those gazes made the children feel cold. Incomplete, as though someone had poured ice over them and they were only just becoming aware of the fuzziness in the back of their minds, washing away everything except the knowledge that they were missing something.

But then the princess smiled and something seemed to shift in the air, as though that simple upturning of lips had caused the entire mountain to brighten, as though nothing could bear to be upset in the face of such a smile. She murmured to the knight, the words too quiet to pick up but the way the knight laughed at them and elbowed her in the side playfully gave some indication as to what was said. Asha felt dizzy, as though the force of the meeting had knocked her askew; it was too much. Everything was just too much, too there, too real. Deene’s hands were shaking where they were gripping her hand and he was crying quietly, unable to explain why. It felt like they were staring directly into sunlight, suddenly regaining something important that they couldn’t yet work out, but they felt so much more because of it; every just felt so _right_ , then. As though  they’d been waiting all their lives for this moment to come.

_(As though this was the reason they were alive)._

The princess spoke, her voice warm around the words like the embrace of a parent-

“Welcome home.”

-and everything came flooding back at once, like they’d been pushed from the clouds and were hurtling down to earth, like a dam had broken and the water was fighting to complete its course. Every memory, every feeling, every tiny little thing they’d forgotten in that moment they breathed their last came slamming back into them; it was too much. It was not enough. They reeled, choking on the emotion, the person they’d forgotten they once were as well as the people they’d thought long lost. They choked on the grief and the relief and the hopelessness that had reigned over their mind, on the belief that they’d never see their family again, on the fact that they had been wrong.

_(They choked and yet breathing had never been easier)._

Their family was all together once again, all here and alive in a world where they shouldn’t be- they’d been given a second chance. They could have the life they’d never been allowed before, and this time it was one that was unfettered by the rules of death or the Gods. This time, it was a life for them and them alone.

And so they ran to their parents opened arms, crying for the home they hadn’t known they were longing for.

_(It had taken them three hundred years but at last, they were together once more. They were together and that was how they would stay; wife and wife, brother and sister, mother and daughter. A family that would never break- not then, not ever. A family that they had created for themselves in a world they should never have met._

_It had taken three hundred years, but this would be their Happy Ever After)._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated and please hit the [dreadvy's art](http://dreadvy.tumblr.com/post/163713869030/art-for-fools-among-the-stars-aftg-big-bang-2017) up with a reblog!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> [ My tumblr, polyhymina.](http://polyhymina.tumblr.com/tagged/skyrim-au)


End file.
